Transgression and Inquisition
by mastersam
Summary: The Spanish Inquisition has joined the hunt for the Soul Swords, and uses their resources and influential faith to manipulate, seek and destroy all who oppose their might, starting with the Alexandra family. I'll have many familiar characters in this one.
1. Chapter 1

(A/N: Hey peoples! I've had this idea running around in my head for quite awhile now, so I figured I'd better get it out while I still can. Since they were around during the same time, about, Soul Calibur + Spanish Inquisition seems like a good idea. I'll get to writing now. And no, it's not the Monty Python thing, either.)

Disclaimer: I don't own SC, or anything that has to do with it, Namco Bandai does. Dammit. .

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A series of shuffling, flapping footsteps could be heard in the soil and grass nearby, a low grumble passing through the air as the clear sky cast a moonlit glow over the pasture near Athens. Popping his frilled head over the tall grass, if but for a moment, one could see the reptilian head of Aeon Calcos, of Lizardman. A sniff or two, and his head disappeared again, and he continued his quiet, yet fast-paced journey towards the bright city below.

His dark green scales kept him hidden amongst the foliage to the group of traveling knights and priests, marching towards Athens as well. Motivated by the rumor of both pagan practices and demonic essence that must be stamped out by the will of God, they had sent those among their best; their armor and weapons gleaming, the feeling of pride, power, and arrogance hanging heavily in the air about them causing a certain someone to veer away for a distance. What did he believe them to be doing? Were they going to take his food? Were they going to capture people? Kill them? Perhaps. Aeon decided that it would be best to do whatever that he needed, and then get out as soon as possible without involving himself with those strange people. Straying just a few more yards off to the side, Lizardman made his way down.

AlAlAlAlAlAl

Meanwhile, in the city, two separate businesses sat next to one another, a bakery and a smithy. In the back of the bakery was the residence of quite a large family: the smith, Rothion, the baker and her siblings, Sophitia, Cassandra, and Lucius, and Sophitia's children, Pyhrra and Patrokolos. Late at night, Rothion had just finished closing down the shop and cleaning up the place, brushing up the soot and the dried slag from the floor and the anvil, getting most of the dust away from the shelves and racks.

Walking into his home with a smile on his slightly blackened face, Sophitia whipped around to let her sapphire blue eyes meet his own sienna orbs, her pale gold braid casting itself around her shoulder. Her own grin spread even wider than Rothion's as she dashed from across the living space and into his arms, ones that had been worn into the strength and stone-like shape they were now. They were not those of a warrior, with the quick reflexes and dexterity, but just as strong, if not stronger; what he beat down, what he pulled, stretched and smashed was not flesh and bones; it was bronze, iron and steel, and occasionally even harder metals. Sophitia and Cassandra were the warriors- Rothion was their worker, one who they both loved, if in differing ways.

Sophitia's hands were large for a woman's, yet even so, they weren't big enough to go any farther than halfway around Rothion's upper arms. Gripping him about his biceps, she pressed her body close to his, his own broad palms cupping her fair shoulders. "Rothion, dear," she asked pleasantly, "how was your day today?" to which he answered with a sigh, "It was a little tiring, Sophitia. A Dutchman, I believe from Holland, or thereabouts, had requested a dozen spearheads, along with two sabers and, for some odd reason, he wanted me to fix a crack in the bowl to his pipe. I told him I couldn't do that because both my forge was too hot, and none of my hammers were small enough; if I were to even try, it would either melt the silver to nothing, or smash it to pieces. He still paid me well enough on the weaponry, though."

Sophitia gave him a look of confusion. "Why would he have come to a blacksmith to repair something so soft?" she wondered to him.

Rothion gave a shrug. "I don't know. Perhaps I was the first hammer that he had heard working, and so he came to me. He understood, though, and I gave him the directions to the nearest whitesmith. He had given me an extra few coins for that, the generous fellow," a small chuckle following.

Reaching down to his belt, he undid a blue velvet purse that jingled with coins, dropping it in a palm that Sophitia held out. The two of them stepping over to the kitchen table, they pulled a chair across from one another as Sophitia emptied its contents. She was dazzled; although the money wasn't currency of Greece, she knew that it was of great value. Discs of plentiful copper, occasional silver, and very rarely, even gold danced in front of her eyes, the light of the oil lamps casting a yellow light over it all. A look of pride was over Rothion's face, although one could tell that it wasn't over the money that he managed to bring in- it was the fact that his work was actually considered to be of high enough quality to the common buyer that he would earn so much. It made him feel as though he was important and such to more than just his family- although no one could take the fact that he was loved away from him, having more of an ability to be noticed was always enjoyable.

As they had just begun to share a moment, Cassandra, her short blond hair bouncing emotionally, stomped in from the bakery with a beaten Lucius in tow, his left eye blackened and brow swollen, objecting loudly to the motherly treatment the entire time. Throwing him by his ear onto a bench, the young blond yelled at her dark-haired brother, "Why did you start a fight with him? You know that I could have just taken it!"

"Taken it?" Lucius shot back. "Taken it! He threw old flour down the front of your blouse! Do you not have any dignity?" Standing back to his feet, Lucius mockingly clapped his hand to his forehead, "No, of course you don't. You care too much about the mere loaf or two of bread that a lecherous pervert was about to buy to still hold onto your own little bit of pride in yourself."

Turning to see what went on, Rothion and Sophitia spied the pair arguing about the events of the day. Stepping out of their seats and up to them, they wondered exactly what happened, Sophitia breaking the silence and asking just that. Looking at the couple, Cassandra patted her chest, making a cloud of pale brown-white float into the air. "That happened," she answered, "and Lucius thinks that it gives him the right to go and beat the customer who did it to a bloody pulp, getting him that!" pointing at his inured eye.

"You know, Lucius has a point, Cassandra," Sophitia replied, a hand going into the air for emphasis. "You shouldn't just let someone harass you like that whenever they want, even if you are on the job. If they get away with it, they get the impression that you have no self confidence, and that they can walk all over you."

Lucius gave a smug grin to Cassandra, feeling confident that he'd won the argument. Rothion then added his own two-cents to the mix, something like, "But, Lucius, that doesn't mean you should go and fight while you're on the job, either, unless it's necessary. And, we already know that Cassandra is more than a capable fighter. Let her fight her own battles, Lucius."

Although he knew that their argument was settled, he, the younger brother, felt gypped, cheated of his victory. However, he could tell from the look in his older sister's eyes that he should just be quiet and admit defeat. Smiling at the peace that now settled about the place, Rothion asked, "What were you planning on making for supper?"

A small look that asked for approval came to Sophitia's face as she said, "Remember that Scotsman that had dropped by a few weeks ago? He had paid for half of his bread with a recipe for a soup from his homeland. It has lamb neck in it, and sounded quite savory. I assumed that now, since I'd managed to save up enough to buy the ingredients, I should try and have a go at it."

Nodding thoughtfully, Rothion told her, "Why not? I'm a simple man. It's hard to find anything with mutton that I don't like." Planting a kiss on her cheek, Rothion said, "While you go and finish, I'll check on Pyrrha and Patrokolos. The argument may have awakened them, and I would probably have to put them back to sleep."

Sophitia nodded with a smile as Rothion headed up the stairs.

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Slinking his way through the shadows of the alleys, Lizardman made his progress through the streets of Athens, avoiding the sights of people as nothing more than a flicker of grey and black, a glimmer of steel in the moonlight. Whenever he stopped, it would always be in the darkest of places, so as to stay from sight. A snort to the air, and he had to keep himself from wheezing out loud; the smells! Oh, the smells! Various smokes, sweats, other foul stenches assaulted his nostrils, not to mention just the fact that there were so many different smells altogether, not just the repulsive ones. Yuck, he wanted to leave this place as soon as possible, and return to the wild, where at least there he had little to sicken him.

However, he knew his targets, the ones that he needed to look for. The demon sword had given him back his soul, but now all that was on his mind was the necessity of finding a way to speak to his patron god, to apologize, to seek forgiveness. Although he knew that he had done wrong, Aeon was confident that he would be forgiven for his deeds, were he to give Hephaestus the news of having reclaimed his soul, and for the most part, his sanity. The beast, the lizard, still held part of him, but he had regained enough of his conscience to avoid following the same lifestyle as his fellow lizards: murder, feed, and serve. They had hardly a mind of their own at all, and after the collapse of Fygul Cetmus, there was little for them to do, except either follow another or roam free. It was obvious that no human would take them in, even if they knew their situation.

He had felt a small amount of pity for his former comrade, Astaroth. The two of them had worked together for the cult, although Aeon had managed to break free of the high priest's words quite early. Astaroth, a quite stupid golem, had died several times according to his knowledge, and now served another god, not a mortal. At least, that's what the golem said the last time that they had fought. They both walked away from it, although they had also both sustained bad injuries; Lizardman had several joints that were mangled and a bruised hide, having avoided the blade of the axe fairly well, whereas Astaroth wasn't so lucky as to have been missed, leaving with many deep hacks, cuts, scratches, and even a crushed part of his armor where Aeon had bitten hard indeed. Thankfully, Lizardman had healed by this point, his body now in a fine condition. Of Astaroth he cared not.

Shaking off the memories of how he used to be, Lizardman quickly slipped onward, making his way to the next alleyway to give another sniff to the air. This time, he could stand the smells, as he was beginning to smell the wonders of market. Yes, there was still much by way of smoke, but it didn't mask over the pleasant aromas of the many foods, the fruits and vegetables, the butchery, and the spice cart. Hurriedly, he dashed off through the shadows in that direction, following the attractive scents.

Not more than a few minutes later and Aeon had already made his way to the streets of the marketplace, and to him it was nothing but decorated with food. Vegetables were passed; as a human, he found them to be tasty, savory things, but his taste in victuals had generally flown elsewhere. Fruits, too, were at most given a glance. Although they held the sugary, sweet nectars that any creature in their right mind craved, he had no time for something so small at the moment.

It was then, after passing a few more stands, that he smelled it. Turning his head to the other side of the cobblestone road, a whiff of seafood and salt caught his nostrils. A growl, and he walked over, gripping the handle of the door. He gave it a light tug, opening the door freely, and without hesitation, he entered the place.

By Apollo's chariot, what had he done to deserve such a blessing? None were there, and such food… all his, ripe for the taking. Hanging from the ceiling was a small swordfish, lightly caked with salt. Easily taking it down, he brushed off the white, grainy dust, admiring it as if it were a work of art before he was about to take a large bite.

However… just before his powerful jaws clenched down on the scaly, fleshy sea creature, he heard footsteps and a gasp. Looking behind him, Aeon saw a young boy behind him, his eyes as wide as they could go, rooted to the spot in fear. What should he do? Give up the fish and leave hungry? That would be the just thing to do… but he needed this! He was in the most desperate need of something to eat! Perhaps he could scare the boy upstairs… no, then he would call his parents, and cause a fuss. Maybe… he should pay for it? But with what? He had no real money on hand, and his weapons were far too dear to give up. Looking about on his body, he noticed some of the older scales that failed to come of from his last molting on his tail. Although the thought made him feel guilty, Lizardman knew that it was the only negotiable thing that he had, and it was the only thing that he could do to leave without raising a veritable riot about the place.

Holding the fish in one hand, Lizardman used the other to grip his excess skin and peel it off, the cool, breezy feeling washing over his newly exposed scales. He held it out to the child, who still looked at him with utmost horror. Stretching further and grunting slightly, Aeon tried to convince the boy to come hither, trying to tell him that he meant no harm. Reluctantly, the little one stepped forward, taking hold of the dried scales, which Lizardman quite willingly let go of. The boy crept back, his eyes showing less fear and now more amusement. Aeon silently replied with as close to a smile as he was able, his eyes giving it away. The boy gave a quiet laugh as he headed back to his bedroom, whereas Lizardman stepped outside, quickly eating down the fish after snapping off the blade at the nose. It was, obviously, unbelievably salty, but still satisfying. Finished with his meal and his business involved with it, Aeon continued down the street, picking up the scent of a bakery and a forge…

AlAlAlAlAlAl

Sitting on the table in front of the four adults were four bowls of soup, the broth swimming with bits of lamb, leeks, carrots, barley, onions, and small amounts of pepper. Rothion's mouth watered as he took in such a wonderful smell, and he couldn't wait to dig into the dish and slurp it all down. But, just as he was about to begin eating, a thought came to mind. "Sophitia, if this is dinner, what have the children eaten?"

"They have not either been helpful, nor hungry. All that they were given was some of the bread from today."

Although he too thought that Pyrrha and Patrokolos should be doing their parts, Rothion thought that perhaps that was a bit harsh, especially if they had been affected by that cursed blade. They still were children, and they were able bodied, but that didn't mean that one should treat them like they were laborers. Ah, he would bring it up with her later. What's done is done.

It was then that they heard a loud, heavy knock on the door of their home, not their bakery. "Who could that be?" Rothion wondered aloud, standing up to answer. As he opened the door, he saw a man adorned in fine, red, white and gold robes, a gold crucifix around his neck, standing in the doorway. A hard, stern, stone-cold face rested atop his shoulders, decorated with a short, black, well-trimmed beard, and behind him stood at least ten well-armed soldiers. They looked Spanish, by tell of their weaponry and armor.

"I, my dear friend, am Father Romero XIV, a priest of the Spanish Inquisition," he introduced with both elegance and power about his voice. "May I come in? I have much that I wish to ask your family, _señor_," he asked, his face softening the slightest of amounts as he made his request. Rothion, not wanting to either risk being killed or rude, answered to him, "Of course, come in, come in. Would you like a seat?"

Father Romero nodded politely, saying, "_Si_, I would enjoy a seat very much. I have traveled far, in search of something."

This piqued the entire room's curiosity. "What would that be?" Rothion asked as he offered their bench to the priest, then sitting next to him on the opposite end.

Father Romero took a deep and heavy breath, as if preparing to tell them the worst of news, as if they had lost a child. "We have heard news of a demon spirit that resides in Athens. This _demonio_ is said to be more powerful than others, and cannot be shaken by just the power of the Faith."

This statement shook Rothion to the core, his heart skipping. Now there was the Catholic Church after Soul Edge? Even if they were against it, that still wasn't a good thing. The more that got involved, the more that there were who could be devoured, or worse. He decided that, since they were going to find out anyway, that he should tell them. But, he had to leave Cassandra and Lucius out of it; they weren't involved anywhere near as much as Sophitia and he. Giving a sigh, Rothion told them, "Lucius, Cassandra, I believe I may not have tidied up the smithy as much as I should have. Would you please check it while I talk to this man?"

Cassandra looked at him defiantly as she started, "Bu-"

"Not now, little girl! Lucius, will you see reason and take her with you?" Realizing what Rothion was getting at, Lucius nodded quickly and grasped a confused Cassandra by the arm, taking her out the back door and to the forge. Father Romero raised a brow at Rothion. Hastily, the blacksmith explained, "They know very little of the demon, what they do being hearsay about the city, and I want to keep it that way. Do not involve them, please, and preserve what is left of their innocence, sir." Closing his eyes, Romero nodded, making a solemn promise on a small Bible that he kept on his person to leave them out of their investigations.

Sophitia pulled her chair to the bench, sitting next to Rothion and holding his hand. "Are you going to tell them… everything?"

Rothion nodded sadly. "They must know the truth about what they wish to face, Sophitia."

"Then let me tell them, Rothion."

"_Señor_, we have no reason to believe the words of a mere _señora_," Romero said, crinkling his nose. "Women have been guilty of many sins, and deceit is a favorite! Why should we trust her over you?"

Rothion looked at him simply. "Because she has more experience with the demon than I do. Because she knows more about it than I. Because I trust her," he told him firmly. Father Romero grumbled, but conceded.

"It started long ago, when I was given a message from a spirit to fight a demon. The spirit said that it was brought shame by the demon, and that any who met the demon would only bring about pain and suffering.

"That demon, however, is unlike those you would normally imagine, sir. The demon that the spirit spoke of was called Soul Edge. It is a blade of immense power, and it possesses its wielders. Those it does not control… it feeds upon their souls." She was reluctant to tell him of her own religion; the Inquisition was known to kill others who were practitioners of pagan religion.

Romero's brow furrowed. This was… quite the news indeed. So, instead of a demon, they were after an intelligent sword? That… was unexpected, to say the least. "I, along with several others, have gone on many journeys to destroy it, and yet, even today, it still has not been totally destroyed. The sword has even managed to pollute the spirits of other people…"

Again, Romero's brow went up. "Do you know of these people?" he asked, the power in his voice kept low, but the persuasive tone still about. She didn't know what there was about it, but something in the vibrating thrum of his voice made her want to speak, no matter how she tried. "… Yes, I do. The Dread Pirate, Cervantes de Leon… he was among the first wielders. He had absorbed so much power that his body has stopped aging. His daughter, Isabella Valentine, is also cursed in her blood. The Azure Knight- his sword, which had an eye in the center- that was Soul Edge. He has cursed his servant, Tira, who attempted to take them from me. Siegfried Schtauffen, who had been the Azure Knight for some time, was cursed… until… I don't know, actually. But he has been freed of the taint.

"And finally…" Sophitia began to say with a shiver, "… there is me." Rothion snapped his head around to her, looking at her in horror. His eyes quite plainly said, 'I know you said everything, but did you have to tell them that!' Romero folded his hands together, his face looking as though he was curious for a moment before shaking his head. "How, may I ask, did you get polluted with Soul Edge?"

"When I had first ventured out for it, I had managed to find Cervantes. I shattered one of the halves of it, but some of the shards were embedded into my body; by now, they have become a part of me."

Romero nodded. "That is all that I need to know. Men! Take the _señora_ and _niños_ away!"

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Grrr… those soldiers again. Appearing at this house, of all places…

Resting upon the roof of the smithy, Aeon watched as Cassandra and Lucius walked around from the back and into the building under him. What were they doing? There was nothing there, as far as he kn-

"EEW! Lucius, who would have left the skeleton of a fish in here? I know Rothion wouldn't eat an entire swordfish on his own!"

Aeon heard Lucius give a thoughtful 'hm', then answer with, "I don't know, Cassandra. Whoever it was decided that a smithy was a trash heap."

Lizardman clapped a hand to his forehead, growling slightly. How could he have been so stupid? That sure lost him brownie points with Hephaestus. "Did you hear that?" Cassandra asked.

As he caught that sentence, Aeon was perfectly still. He knew that if he were to give himself away at all, he would be attacked if it were Cassandra or Lucius that found him. Sticking their heads out the window, they looked to the sides, but saw nothing. "Hmph. I don't know what that could have been, Cassandra, but it was probably just the wind. You should worry yourself less about such things," Lucius reassured her.

Once Aeon was sure that they were settled down, he spied into the rooms of Pyrrha and Patrokolos. The two of them were sound asleep; it made him feel comforted at the fact that at least someone was comfortable for the moment. A sigh escaped his lips as he sat on his rear.

"Now I KNOW I heard something!"

Whipping his tail up to keep it from hanging off of the edge of the roof, Lizardman was once again without any movement. Again, her head jutting out of the window, she looked up and squinted her eyes suspiciously at the lip of the roof, suspecting something to show itself. When her efforts proved fruitless, she sighed and retreated to the smithy. This time, Lizardman made sure to not make any noise as he continued his watch on the children.

But, what was this? The lamp was on? What was going on? Giving a better look, he could see looks of panic and fear on the faces of Pyrrha and Patrokolos, and… halberds! They were being taken! The humanity left in Aeon could not let that happen- children of any kind were not meant to be hunted in the first place, they were to be protected. Why was Sophitia not with them? Was she being held back herself? Then… he knew what must be done. It was… it was a sign! A test from Hephaestus, to see if he still held enough goodness inside him to be forgiven. Yes… Hephaestus, and all the gods of Mount Olympus would forgive him!

Readying his axe and shield, Aeon stood and, with a roar, leapt through the glass window, shattering it into a million pieces as he tumbled onto the floor of the children's room. Striking down one of the soldiers with a single blow from his shield and knocking the man out cold, Lizardman loosed a deafening roar, drowning out the screams of the young ones. The Spaniard faltered, which Aeon took advantage of, kicking him in the chest so hard that he flew down the stairs and slammed into the wall at the foot of them. Father Romero was furious. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, getting no answer from the soldier, just another roar from above. Growling, he ordered, "Four of you, make sure that the two in the smithy don't get away! The rest of you, capture that… thing!"

Following their orders explicitly, four of them went out the back door and blocked off the exit to the smithy. The others managed to lure out Lizardman, yelling various insults. He understood them just fine, but that wasn't what made him angrier; it was the fact that they were still going after the children, coming up the stairs, and acting so arrogant about it! What made them think that they would be able to beat him? As the first one came up, he slashed away at the halberd, lopping off the deadly part, shortening it until the soldier was within range of the shield, which he took to the face. With a mighty blow, the soldier was knocked over the rail and to the ground.

The second one merely had his stepped on and snapped in half, and then after being jabbed in the stomach by the head of the axe, he rolled on the ground in pain. Number three attempted a few swings, which were easily dodged, and Aeon gripped him by the neck, beating on his armored sides with his axe until the cheap plate popped off. Casting him aside, Aeon stared at the remaining soldier and Romero with a ferocity known only to his most hated of enemies. "_Bestio_! W-what are you?" Romero yelled.

"Our savior…" Sophitia whispered…

Aeon roared as loudly as he possibly could.

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"That's it Lucius, I have to see what is going on! We've got something breaking into our house!"

Lucius nodded in agreement. "Yes, Cassandra, something's very wrong here. We need to know-" he said as he started to go out the door, but was cut off by the group of four Spaniards. "Is there something wrong here?" he asked them.

"No, _señor_. You are to remain in here, and our orders, as given by Father Romero, are to make sure that you do so."

"What?" Cassandra yelled. "That is such bullsh-"

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"Sophitia, please just trust my decision. I have an idea," Rothion whispered while Lizardman had fought his way down the stairs. Slipping away unnoticed, he quickly went out the front door, hoping to reach the smithy before the soldiers did. However, as his luck would have it, there was nothing he could have done in the time before the soldiers got there. Sliding under the window around the corner, he waited until Cassandra finished her tantrum and peace was withheld in the place again. Peeping his eyes just above the pane, Cassandra noticed and recognized them immediately. Trying not to get a bunch of attention, she merely relaxed next to the window. A look went to him, saying quite plainly, 'What do you have planned?'

Rothion pointed at his largest iron mallet, more than big enough to be properly wielded with two hands. He then jerked a thumb behind him, signaling that he wanted it outside. Cassandra nodded silently.

As Rothion ducked back under the window, he heard yet another screeching curse belted from Cassandra, and then a crash from right above as the hammer just managed to pass safely over his head. Scrambling forward, Rothion grasped it, and began to stalk behind the smithy. As soon as one of the soldiers, who was too busy wondering why in the world Cassandra would have been doing something so stupid, was within range, Rothion struck him as hard as he would have the strongest of orichalcum alloys, square on the head. Smashing the helmet, the man was out, if not dead. Blood dribbled to the ground.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Cassandra and Lucius each took daggers and threw them, Cassandra nailing one of them in the throat, Lucius sticking the other in the shoulder. Clutching his wound, the Spaniard screamed in pain, dropping his weapon, when Cassandra leapt forward, grasped the dagger, and thrust it into the side of his neck.

However, from her flank charged the last soldier, aiming to skewer her in the ribs. Not about to let that happen, Rothion threw his mallet, smashing him on the back of the head and knocking him to the ground. Rothion dashed forward, cast off the helmet, and kicked him as hard as he could, feeling something crack under his shoe. His breathing was heavy… he had never felt this much adrenaline running through his body. Cassandra smiled and hugged his limp arms, thanking him for saving her. He had no reply; it took more than enough effort just to stand.

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This next soldier had actually managed to provide a bit of a challenge. He too, unlike the others, dodged attacks. However, as Lizardman worked his way closer, he finally came within range to bite him, and that he did, right on the shoulder, using his free hand to hold back the halberd. He clenched so hard that he felt the end of the man's collarbone go crunch, at which he let go, smashing the rim of his shield into the bridge of the soldier's nose, leaving him to roll on the floor in pain.

While he did his handiwork, what Aeon failed to notice, however, was Father Romero creeping up behind him, with a stiletto-disguised-crucifix, a sharp and needle-like blade. Seeing him about to strike just a moment too late, Sophitia called to him, "Look out!" and he turned just in time to be struck in the trap. Taking hold of Romero's hand, Aeon bellowed in pain, his grip breaking the priest's fingers as the agony blinded his judgment in how hard he was to hold onto him. As soon as Romero let go, Lizardman flipped him over and onto his back, winding the man. A baritone scream, and Aeon ripped the slim blade from his muscle, about to stab downward… but he then threw it into the wall, and roared out loud, as if to give warning to the world. At that, he lifted Romero by his collar, and then head butted him, knocking him unconscious.

Dropping him to the ground, he looked at his wound. It looked dreadful, but it seemed as though he would survive, were he to keep it clean. Sophitia stepped up to him, examining the deep puncture. "We can help with that… bandage it up. Please, come with us, and help us. After this, we can't stay in Athens any longer. We have to move away, and-" but she was interrupted by him pulling away and shaking his head with a low growl. Two pairs of feet were heard on the stairs. Turning in their direction, Lizardman gave a smile before heading out the door, dashing off into the moonlight. He could tell that he had been forgiven.

"Mother… what was that?" asked Patrokolos cautiously. Sophitia looked out the door after him with tearful eyes. "That," she answered, "was the one who saved you. Now, come along, we need to gather the rest of you relatives; there is much packing to be done…"

The wound continued to bleed profusely, making Aeon slow down as he trudged down the path out of Athens. In spite of the fact that he healed faster than most creatures, it still didn't let his blood begin to congeal and clot soon enough. Within minutes of being out of sight of anybody, his head began to swim, his world spun in circles, blurring… and then, finally, it went black as he fell to the ground.

It did stop in time for him to survive the wound, but Aeon still did not wake. His fate had decreed it so that another band of the Inquisition that had ventured into Athens would happen upon him, and cage the 'beast', not knowing either of what he had just done or of his thoughts or intentions.

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(A/N: Yes, I know this chapter is enormously long. But, that's how I'm planning on writing these. There will be other characters involved, of course, and their stories of their encounters with the Inquisition will be different. But, a few of them I'm thinking about interweaving.)


	2. Chapter 2

(A/N: And, chapter two! I honestly liked the last chapter, and thanks for any reviews I might have gotten. I really appreciate them. Also, sorry for any mistakes I make in the foreign languages, I mostly use the Internet for whatever basics I don't know. And, I'll try and actually put in whatever accent they have; I wasn't' able to do the Greek one, because I don't know it well, and a Spanish accent isn't all that heavy anyway.)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything owned by Namco Bandai, and the Spanish Inquisition is a historical figure, therefore open to interpretation, yaddayaddayadda…

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His journey had been long, hard, and tiresome, but he had made it. The ancient, magnificent tower that he ascended was perilous, and at the top, he had not only defeated the Azure Knight once and for all, as far as he knew, he had also received an explanation of the holy sword's intentions from a womanly ninja; as his mind wandered back to her, he remembered her attractive features: her ebony locks, chocolate eyes, the wondrous curves that were her breasts and hips. The young knight licked his ruddy lips at the thought of her.

However, her strong, stern voice soon invaded his memory, telling him of the imbalance, and how his 'good' blade was doing exactly the same thing to him as was Soul Edge; however, it was following the idea that it is, indeed, the honey that attracts the flies. The thought of being fooled twice, by two opposing energies, was infuriating.

Shaking his head, his lengthy, bright golden hair shimmering in the sunlight, Siegfried Schtauffen opened his eyes, their own ice blue being cooler than the sky. He had received news that, recently, one of the men that he had met several times before, Raphael Sorel, had managed to overthrow the petty members of his family and take a position of power. According to that news, he had also brought himself and Amy, his foster daughter, to France, claiming the family estate. Of this, Siegfried was happy to hear, as it meant that Raphael had finally achieved his goal of putting the greedy in their place. Also, along with the message there came an invitation to the manor, as it seemed Raphael needed to speak with Siegfried personally about something.

His armor clunking with each step, Siegfried made his way along the path from the Rhine River, the northern branch of a small mountain range, the Vosges, standing in front of him. They had little by way of snow; the spring had come, and the ice was beginning to melt away from the world yet again. The sun having broken through the gray of winter and bathed the world in warmth did the same to his own heart, which had little by way of comfort, until Nightmare had been destroyed. Sighing as the purifying light soaked into his body, Siegfried continued on the path that led to the mountains.

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Dull, throbbing pain was Aeon's waking call. Although what he laid curled upon was wooden, around him were iron bars, and just above stood perched another thick, oaken board. Constricting it shut was a series of iron chains, held together by heavy padlocks that looked as though they could be used for the head of a blunt flail. Sitting up, he gave a quick look around, his head feeling very light from the blood running out of it so quickly, and saw that he was in an open cart being tugged by a heavy workhorse. The thing wasn't a Clydesdale, but it was still big. Off to each side marched silently a pair of Spaniards; easily beatable… were he still armed. Once the grogginess had faded, he noticed the absence of his armor, shield and axe, and it was then that he knew just how much danger he was in. Sure, he would be able to possibly take out a few of them with his bare hands, but how much would his image suffer? They already thought of him as a beast. To go off and bite, claw, punch and head butt soldiers into submission, even if he weren't to kill them, he would be looked upon as more of an abomination.

On the other hand, what would they say to a show of intelligence? He could communicate with them, somehow… perhaps signs? Yes, that would work. A small growl, one that was not to sound threatening, went to one of the men on his right. You know, something like, 'Hey you!' Hearing the snarling noise, the soldier turned, a brow raised in confusion. As Aeon was granted the man's attention, he smiled, stretching his arms as far as they would go, even putting his hands out of the cage. Then, he pointed forward with one finger, followed by a low grumble. The soldier mumbled something in Spanish, and then said something he couldn't understand to the one behind him, roughly imitating the same motions that Lizardman had just made. Given a moment of thought, the other soldier asked, "_Bestio_, do you understand me?"

Aeon nodded sharply; of course he understood! How else would he have known to communicate in the first place?

"_Bestio_, did you ask where we are and where we are going?"

This time, Lizardman nodded feverishly; good, someone who could interpret him! The soldier answered, if reluctantly, "We… have traveled from Greece, and are just coming into Croatia. You have been asleep for many days now, although your wound is healed."

Looking down to his shoulder, he gave it a stroke, seeing slightly off-pattern scales, twisted to accommodate the healing. "You heal faster than any man I have met, _bestio_. Even the greatest of warriors would still have worries of reopening a wound as deep as yours was," he told Aeon with a bit of an admiring smile. "As for where we are going, _bestio_, we are headed to Spain, to weigh your sins, and see if you are either a creature of nature or _Diablo_," he continued. If he were to be honest with himself, he was beginning to doubt the story that Father Romero had told him, just from how… human this one had seemed. He was too man-like to be an all-out beast, but because of something, now he was… this. What really happened? Perhaps he could ask one of the survivors of the Athens incident when they next camped…

Lizardman, however, was wondering about exactly how they would be 'testing' the feasibility of his sins. He did, after all, attack one of their holy men, even if it was in the protection of others and himself. But what was he to do? Let Romero strike him down? That would never happen. Ah, well, he would take the consequences of what he did, knowing that his heart was in the right place.

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As he trudged along the path, Siegfried was paying little attention to his surroundings. After all, both of the swords had been silenced, for the most part. There was little for him to worry about; apart from the few people who hadn't yet heard of the demise of the true Azure Knight, none who he'd happened to cross since the recent events at the tower even looked at him. Perhaps it was the fact that he was wandering on foot- not even the poorest of knights were to be seen on foot, unless the terrain dictated otherwise. No matter, he didn't care. At least he wasn't being attacked.

It was not for another hour or so of steady marching that Siegfried was to spot the first soul he'd seen the entire day, a man, a farmer by the look of his wagon and mules, trotting through the foothills. Slowing down so as to let him catch up even quicker, Siegfried stopped him. "_Guten tag_, sir. May I ask vere you are headed?" Siegfried inquired.

The farmer tipped a wide hat to him, one that shaded a leathery, rough face. "I am on my way to Metz, and z'en back to my farm. You need a ride?" he offered, a heavy French accent rolling over his voice.

Siegfried nodded. "_Ja_, my feet and knees are killing me…"

"I do not 'ave any room up front, but sere is plenty in ze wagon. You will 'ave to possibly keep some of ze goods from falling on you, if you don't mind."

Siegfried waved it off with a smile. "Ah, I am glad to just have a sit, I vill not mind at all."

As soon as Siegfried had made his way into the back of the wagon and settled himself in, resting Requiem on the planks and holding up a short stack of crates with his shoulders. "Are you ready?" the farmer yelled back. "_Ja_!" he shouted back.

"Hyah!"

With a crack of the reins, the mules brayed as they started up again, dragging their extra baggage. The ride was only slightly bumpy, unlike when he had last hitched a ride on a cart lead by oxen- that was rough. This one, however, one could sleep on if you were to position yourself to not take a big thump on the head when you hit a bump in the road. Beginning to relax, Siegfried reached into a purse at his belt, and slipped out a lengthy, sky blue, crystalline shard that looked as though it would have been used to spear someone. His mind had begun to open, and the shard, in the shade cast by the boxes surrounding them, pulsed a soft glow.

"Vy… vy did you use me?" he whispered to the crystal.

A faint, yet definitely feminine voice entered his mind, barely able to speak with the little bit of power that it held. '… _I had no choice, Siegfried. Soul Edge and I are related, and it was our destiny to clash yet again. Unlike Soul Edge, however, I have not enough spirits inside to manifest a body, and so I need a wielder. I have faith in both your ability, and in your morals, your sense to do the right thing. On that note, I chose you to take hold of me, and use me to shatter Soul Edge once and for all._'

Siegfried gave a sigh. "But… I know s'at it is not all gone. Some of it is still in dis vorld, having cursed people. It is in s'eir blood, s'eir souls, s'eir families, and it vill remain until eizer d'ey are killed or purified."

'_Then, Siegfried, we can only hope that you can find them and work your own magic before others who are not so gifted do, do you not think? After all, there are few others who are as able to remove the taint as you._'

"I am only able because of you, Soul Calibur."

'_I? Do not be so naïve, Siegfried. All I do is show these things to you, so that you know how to use them. Everyone has these abilities; they are just more prominent in you than others._'

"And because you show me, I am able. It is not as s'ough Soul Edge vould have done so, making you responsible."

Were the shard of Soul Calibur capable, it would have sighed. Siegfried had won the little dispute. The jagged crystal knew that it could have kept nagging on, but it would have most likely gotten nowhere, so it decided to stay silent. From there, the rest of the journey was uneventful, lulling Siegfried to sleep.

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The sky had begun to darken, the sun falling below the horizon. All around, the clouds were everything from pink to wisteria to a dark, grayish-violet. One could even faintly see the moon, having just made itself known somewhere in the east. Lizardman, with nothing better to do, relaxed as well as the cramped space in the cage would allow and spied it, admiring the celestial body that hung in the sky. Its normal silver was lightly tinted with gold as the landscape slowly shaded over, darkening the greens and browns that were European wilderness.

"Men! Make way for camp!"

At those words, Aeon's half-shut eyes perked right up. They were going to stop? Hmm… perhaps he could find a way to work out an escape from this position… however, his mind was broken from this train of thought as the wagons went off of the road and into a clearing, full of tender grass and sparse trees. Arranging themselves into a circle, the wagons and carts unloaded their passengers, all of who helped gather wood to light a bright fire in the middle. It was no bonfire, but the warmth was even felt by Lizardman, who was still left in his cage, distant from the others. The priests gathered in the middle, sharing their blessings and preachings with the soldiers, as if to remind them of how, despite their insignificance to God, He still watched them, and he would punish the sinners, rewarding the well behaved with admittance to Heaven.

To Aeon, it was all wishy-washy nonsense. Why should he believe in some 'God' that hadn't even shown his face, when he had heard, and in some cases, even met the gods of Olympus, ones he knew existed? They could have at least used a bit more imagination in his name, as well; you did not see someone named a title without being cast away or executed, just as the rest of the insane were.

However, one of the things that they had spoken of was the morality that was supposedly upheld by the people- or, to say the least, made aim for. If so, from his experience, Aeon would have to say that these Christians would have quite a ways to go before attaining their idealistic image. They have so many different religious laws, and yet, should their upper tell them something, it seems that these creeds to one's deity become null and void, surpassing even one's morals, merely because they were told to obey their country. Did their souls not matter to them, or were they merely blinded to what its true value was? He, an insane man-beast, even knew that his soul was powerful, invaluable, nonnegotiable! He stretched himself to his limits, working his way to the ends of the earth to find that despicable sword that had taken it from him. In the end, he made it- or, what was left of the sword- give it back.

The motivating thoughts that brewed in Aeon's mind were somewhat troubling, and began to make him stir. The two Spaniards who had to stand guard heard his growling, giving Lizardman looks of suspicion upon the hostile noise. One of them stuck the spearhead of his halberd in through the bars, muttering something in Spanish; it sounded as though it was a threat. Along with reading the hand gestures, it seemed as though he was trying to belittle him… so, the simple man wanted to play that game, huh? Lizardman would show him just what the fool was messing with.

Although it was painful, Lizardman grabbed hold of the spear. It did not cut him, strangely enough- his tough scales, in combination with the poor quality of the weapon must have contributed to the fact. However, it still had just enough of an edge to dig into his skin, causing the discomfort as he jerked it hard, slamming the man's face into the iron bars of the cage, rocking it slightly. As the other tried to thrust his halberd inside, Aeon grasped it just inches before it reached him, and snapped off the head; now, he was the armed one. Using his new blade to hack off the other's weapon, he flipped it to the wooden handle, pointing them at the two now unarmed soldiers. A feral grumble thrummed from the back of his throat, his slit-like pupils darting back and forth, his reptilian tail dancing back and forth in agitation.

However, he soon realized just how foolish he was in his own rite, as the other soldiers were all standing and looking in his direction. They did not have their weapons out yet, although he was certain they would in a moment and skewer him on them. But nothing came, no panic, no dashing for the weapons, not a thing. Beginning to get confused, Aeon let the heads of the halberds settle, looking back and forth among the soldiers, wondering what was about to happen… that is, until he heard the light clapping. A tall, balding man with gray hair and a clean-shaven face stepped forward. His hard features had high cheekbones, and his steel gray eyes were noticeable even in what little light there was left. His rich, billowing robes were even more elegant than Father Romero's, who was following with an expression of absolute fury; a purple mark still adorned his face where the foreheads of him and Lizardman met. However, the other man had an amused look, as though he hadn't seen anything that spectacular in years. "Bishop, _lo siento_, but this was exactly what I had been talking about! The_ bestio_ is too dangerous to be dealt with all the way to Spain! He will strike again, and next time, he will kill our men!"

The bishop gave Lizardman a long, hard stare, one that he had only felt from a few others, most of them not even being human. It felt as if those chilled titanium orbs of his were sending rays of light that were shooting right through him, boring all the way through his soul and giving him the strictest of judgments. A hand going to his chin, the bishop asked one of the soldiers, "_Habla_?" The one who stepped up and answered was the one who Aeon had communicated with earlier that day. "No, Father, he does not speak at all. He can 'talk' with signs, however, Father."

"Ah, _bueno_. We can all understand what we see better than what we hear. Perhaps you should stay, for help with understanding his efforts, _señor_?"

"_Si_, Father."

Turning back to Aeon, the bishop introduced himself. "I am bishop and Inquisitor, Father Ambrosio II, and you have caught my eye. Can you write?"

Aeon nodded. "Would you write your name?"

His name… what was his name? He didn't really know anymore. He had regained the soul of Aeon Calcos, but his body, what everyone else called him… 'Lizardman'… to himself, he was Aeon, the Spartan, the follower and warrior of Hephaestus sent out to destroy Soul Edge! But what was he to these people? To almost all of them, he was a beast, it seemed. Even the one who had yet to show hostility still thought he was a creature that could not coexist with man. But… this one, this Ambrosio character… he could not place the man's feelings. Perhaps he should be the man just this once, to show that he is not as much of an animal as they would like to think. Gripping the head of one of the halberds with the spearhead pointing downwards, he drove it into the oaken platform on which he sat, digging out in Greek lettering, "AEON".

Father Ambrosio gave his rough scratching a look, and then asked, "Your name is Aeon?" Glancing back and forth between the soldiers, he then nodded, as if to tell them all that he wasn't this 'beast' they continued to talk about; after all, a beast wouldn't have it's own name, right? Father Ambrosio smiled, and said, "I know of no _bestio_ that would be able to fight the way you just did, or do what the stories from the soldiers and Father Romero say you have done. There is far too much man in you for that to be true.

"You still have committed the terrible sin of striking down a noble servant of our Lord God, and for that you will be punished. Should you be forgiven for your sins, we will let you free, but until then you are still under our power. Comprende?"

Although Aeon had little idea what the Spanish word was, he still had a good idea what he meant by it all, and nodded in compliance. It seemed that he was going to be let off a bit easier on this one. "Now, let him out of the cage. He may not be human, but that does not mean you should treat him like an animal. He is able to think just like you… and in some cases, it seems, much better than you, _soldados estupido_*…" (*Stupid soldiers)

Romero was shocked to the core. What was going on through the bishop's mind? "Father, surely you cannot mean-"

"_Silencio_! I have heard enough of your foolishness for some time, Romero!"

Holding back his frustration, Romero pulled the keys to the locks on Aeon's cage from his belt, unlocking each one with a grumble as he went. As soon as each chain was unlocked, one of the troops came to pull it off, and within two minutes, Aeon was free. He was disarmed as they took the ends of the halberds from him, but he was out of that blasted cage. Offering a hand to him, Father Ambrosio smiled warmly as he said, "Now, Aeon, come join us in prayer. When we are done, I am sure you will enjoy our next activity…"

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A sharp bump in the road jarred Siegfried to his senses, having shaken the entire cart violently. Looking up at the sky, it was nearly nightfall, with Venus and the moon already plainly visible. Knowing that there were probably more coming up, he decided it best to not try and sleep again.

In his palm, Soul Calibur still rested. It was silent, not having anything to say in general, so Siegfried slipped it back into the pouch. That was one of the few things that he couldn't afford to lose. Within seconds of doing so, he began to hear odd hoof beats… they sounded as though they were coming from up ahead. As soon as they stopped, so did the farmer's mules.

"_Atteindre le ciel!_*" (*Reach for the sky!)

The farmer sounded harried…highwaymen. Just wonderful. One of them sounded as though he had gotten off of his horse, and had begun walking behind the wagon to find what he could rob the man of.

He wasn't sure just what it was about what he saw that did it to him, but something made the highwayman nearly wet himself. Maybe it was the icy blue eyes that pierced him to his heart, or the intimidating scar that ran over one of them, or perhaps it was just the simple fact that a five-foot long piece of steel was pointed at his chest. It didn't matter anyway, because whatever it was, it made him listen intently. Siegfried, a scowl on his face, put his finger to his pursed lips, telling him to keep silent. The man nodded fearfully.

At the front of the wagon, the other highwayman was getting quite irritated at how long his partner was taking. This was supposed to be a quick, clean operation; they get in, get the stuff, and get out. What was taking him? Calling back, he yelled, "Ai, Louis! What iz ze 'oldup, eh?"

Rolling his eyes, Siegfried nodded to him, and Louis replied, "Z'ere is nussing but cash crops, nussing to take on 'orseback."

"Ach! You are blind! Zere iz always somesing!"

Siegfried waved his hand, signaling Louis to move. As the man came around on his horse, Siegfried leapt from the wagon, zweihander at the ready. Giving it a high swing, he managed to swat the surprised highwayman from his horse, making the beast of burden stumble slightly, but the man fell off, clutching his side where he had been struck. It felt as though he'd broken several ribs. Kicking the pistol of the downed highwayman away from them, Siegfried pressed the tip of Requiem against the chest of Louis again. "Disarm yourself!" he barked. Drawing his own pistol, he too dropped it and kicked it off to the side. "Now, you see vat you've done? Your foolish choices in profession have gotten your friend vounded, and you are now out two horses. In fact, vy don't you give se farmer you tried to rob your possessions. I am sure he deserves at least s'is, for se trouble you've caused."

"Please, don't-"

"Be kind to se poor farmer," Siegfried interrupted. "Your horses alone vill not pay for his taxes, my friend," he said, taking a step forward, intimidating Louis even further. Nodding fervently, Louis began to empty his pockets, which were full of various coins, shot, powder, and a few odds and ends. Siegfried gave a sniff. "And your comrade, he has de same?"

Another nod. Siegfried sighed. "Vat is on se horses?" he asked, to which Louis answered, "Our own food, ze food for ze horses, and a few ozzer t'ings zat we've taken from ze last carriages we've run into. Please do not t'row away ze foo-"

Siegfried held up his hand. "_Stille_! De food vill not be vasted, vorry not. Get a bag, and pack bot' of your belongings into it. Give it to me ven you are done," he ordered. Stepping over to his horse, Louis obeyed, while Siegfried picked up the two pistols, hanging them from his belt. When Louis was finished, he told him, "Take your food from se horses. S'at is all you vill keep from s'em, as I cannot let you starve. I am not cruel like s'at, you see."

Listening explicitly, Louis just took their own food from the horsebacks, waiting for what was to come up next. However, he couldn't help but ask, "What of Edgard? He iz hurt, and cannot do anyt'ing on his own, let alone lift a heavy load. Iz sere somesing you can do…?"

Siegfried sighed. It was about the last thing he wanted to do, the last thing that he would have wanted to show anyone; Soul Calibur was a powerful force, and even in its degraded state, it still held notable strength. "_Ja_… s'ere is, actually. All I ask is s'at you tell not a soul of vat you see tonight. You must svear!" Louis nodded sharply to this; his most sincere wish at the moment was to see his dear friend be saved.

Kneeling down to the other highwayman, Siegfried drew the shard of Soul Calibur and held it in his left hand. Placing his right on the man's side, the fallen one began to recoil as the slightest contact sent sharp, stabbing pains all the way through his whole body. "Be still!" Siegfried whispered harshly. Focusing his mind onto the shard, he let his soul connect to it, and the energies began to flow into him from the artifact. Energy, recovery, curing, purification, life, all those concepts and more were manifest in the power that Siegfried wielded. Between his palm and the man's ribs, a light of a radiant sky blue began to appear, near blinding in brightness. Although at first it seemed as though it would be agonizing, the other highwayman showed no signs of pain at all once his ribs began to snap back into place on their own. As they did so, he gasped in relief, the suffering having been replaced with comfort and energy over the wound. As Siegfried finished, he took his hand from the man and stood shakily, panting for breath. "How did you do zat?" Louis asked breathlessly.

Siegfried, however, was not in the mood for questions. He drew one of the pistols, and told them, "Leave me alone…"

"But-"

He cocked the pistol. "Go."

Scrambling to his feet, the other man helped grab their things and warned, "Louis, I believe we should listen…"

"I need to know-"

"_LASS MICH IN RUHE_*!" Siegfried screamed, at which the two men bolted. Sitting on the edge of the wagon and laying down the gun, Siegfried rested his head in his hand. It throbbed as if someone had tied a cord extremely tight around it, and the pressure was nearly unbearable. Looking at Soul Calibur, he asked, "I… I did se right s'ing, didn't I? I gave s'em d'eir one last chance to change…" (*Leave me alone/Get lost!)

'_One chance? That is saying quite a lot, Siegfried. Look at what you have done with one chance. You have saved the world, protected countless souls from being devoured._'

"In von chance? It has taken me eight years of chances to do s'is, and you know s'at."

"So, how did ze whole robbery turn out, eh?"

Startled by the sudden appearance of the farmer, Siegfried quickly slid Soul Calibur into the pouch it was always kept. "Don't worry, your secret is safe wit' me. It seems you managed to get quite a bit from ze highwaymen, eh? Zey've been around zis place for some time now, and I've met zem twice before. It's nice to know zat you've changed zem up like zis."

Siegfried nodded tiredly. "_Ja_; injustice like s'at tends to grind my nerves."

"_Oui, oui,_" the farmer said. "You seem very tired, _monsieur_. You can finish your ride to Metz, and I will let you have un of ze 'orses, if you like," he offered.

Siegfried blinked at him. "_Ja_? You are most generous, sir. _Vielen Dank_*." (*Many thanks.)

After helping him gather his new belongings, Siegfried hopped back into the farmer's wagon again, falling asleep almost instantly. He needed it anyway- he did, after all, just rob two men of almost everything they had.

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The prayers and preaching Aeon found slightly boring, although he tried to be respectful to Father Ambrosio by paying attention. In spite of his efforts, he still lost his wary eye to other things that came into view, such as the occasional mosquito or horsefly, which could have carried on it numerous diseases just waiting to be switched into someone's blood and spread wide massacre across the troops. Or the bear that ventured near, curious as to what the smoke and smells of many men and strange foods meant. Even a moth, fluttering by silently with the moon as its compass, wasn't stealthy enough to not be a distraction.

As the nightly service was finished, Ambrosio stepped down from his pedestal and walked to Aeon. "Aeon, my son, it seems something has kept you from grasping the words of the Bible. You were turning back and forth, as if there were things around you that you could not ignore. Am I right, child?"

Aeon nodded. "Then, perhaps, I should entertain you. These places are filled with game, ready to be plucked by a skilled predator. We have our rations, but we would all be more than grateful were you to bring back something for us all to enjoy, something more than just the dried meat and bread as usual. Would you hunt for us? I have faith in your coming back, Aeon," he said, placing a hand on Aeon's shoulder.

Here, lying right in front of him to take was a perfect chance for him to escape. Should he do it? If they were to arm him for the hunt as well, then he would be more than ready to take on whatever would come at him for a strike team. But… the bishop trusted him. He had faith in him. There was just something about that that wouldn't let him betray the man. So, as he stood up, he extended his hand in a sign of trust. Smiling in a way that betrayed his eyes, Ambrosio grasped it firmly, giving it a light shake.

It was only within another ten minutes that the entire event had been arranged. Aeon was armed to the teeth: a spear in his hand and another over his back, and a belt with a knife and a hatchet, all picked by Aeon himself. Slinking out and into the shadows, he gave a snort; his nightly senses then took hold. Many scents came to him, the soft earth, the velvet of the moss, the majestic trees. As he ventured farther, the plants began to grow thicker, the smells stronger, the sounds sharper. He could pick up the earthy mushrooms that grew in the shadow of fallen logs, the occasional fleeting hare, and other vermin, but nothing worth his spear as of yet. The bear that had been around before had left, considering the payoff of their food not worth neither the risk nor the effort of fighting them all off.

The land began to sway, sometimes sharply, falling into ravines, other times softly, rolling gently into hills, but all were decorated with both trees and flora. Now Aeon was able to smell the larger game, the mouflon, deer, and the occasional lynx. Once, he even could have sworn to hear a wolf call out, although he shook it off as just the wind.

Continuing on through the wood that had yet to be tread upon by man, he finally caught scent of something that the soldiers would be proud of him for. It was musky, fat, and by the smell of all the other food on it, quite a messy eater. A wild boar. Slowing down his pace to be as stealthy as possible, he snuck up on it unsuspectingly. It was only about ten yards away, standing right next to a tree as it wolfed down the leafy greens of some strange plant that grew near the roots. Silently, Aeon readied his spear, taking aim with deadly precision.

However, in spite of the fact that he made no noise at all, the boar made a squeal and ran, as if it sensed something far more dangerous than itself, ready to pounce. What was it? Turning around, Aeon was shocked to witness a bear, over seven feet high, standing right behind him. Jumping backwards, his spear now in a position to thrust rather than throw, he let a roar, one that could be heard all the way back at the camp. The bear matched it with one of his own, even louder and deeper than Aeon's own, saliva and rank breath washing over his face as the ursine creature leaned forward for his own attempt at intimidation.

And yet, Aeon did not falter, standing his ground, making sure that neither one would give into the other. The animal of him knew that the bear had accepted his challenge, and when the bear made a swipe at his head, Aeon smoothly ducked the enormous, slow, yet deadly paw. He knew that the chest plate on the front of the bear would be too thick to penetrate properly, so he would have to get him from the side. But the bear was able to turn itself too fast for Aeon to get a proper shot! How would he do it?

Ah! He could get it distracted first. Shifting his movements to something more resembling dancing, he began to poke and prod at the bear, making growls and hisses, attempting to agitate it. All the while, Aeon backed up steadily, hopping side to side, until he finally backed into a tree. The bear, now on all fours, made a snap at him- but missed! Aeon had made an instinctual dodge that let him just barely evade the bite, making the bear smash his head into the tree. While the bear still was recovering from its dizziness, Aeon quickly aimed his spear, and, at the bear's side, drew back and thrust forward with all his might, nearly impaling the beast all the way through.

Leaping back, he drew the other spear, readying himself for whatever the bear planned next. In the fit of bloody rage that was inspired by the agony, the bear charged forward with what effort that it had left, barreling over Aeon and pinning him to the ground. Holding back the immense paws with his spear, Aeon was barely able to even keep the beast from mauling him to shreds. Then, in one chomp, Aeon watched in horror as the bear's teeth clenched around the handle of the spear, grinding the wood to a pulp.

The situation was desperate indeed. And, in such times, one is required to act just as desperately. As he felt the handle of the spear give way, Aeon knew that the bear was about to come down on top of him, and from there, he was totally vulnerable. He had to do something! So, what was it that he did, you ask? Once the bear was about to bite down again, Aeon bit back himself, clamping his jaws over the bear's snout, digging his sharp fangs into the soft skin, the tough cartilage, and the hard bone. The feeling of the teeth burying themselves into its nose was blinding, and the bear could feel blood running down its snout; no matter how much it shook, however, the assailant wouldn't let go!

But finally, after his neck and jaw muscles were worn to what felt like nothing, Aeon finally released the bear, which stumbled away, roaring in pain. Shooting to his feet, Aeon grabbed the shortened spear and charged forward, driving it into the other side of the bear as deep as his hands would allow. Backing off again, Aeon watched as it began to walk away, drunkenly, desperately trying to keep itself alive. An occasional moan escaped from it, showing its suffering to the superior predator. Finally, it collapsed on the ground, its breathing heavy, slow, painfully so. Stepping up to it, Aeon drew his hatchet. Their eyes met, the bear's full of sadness and sorrow, Aeon's full of pity and remorse. It hurt his heart to see something so powerful, so strong, to be brought down by a creature who merely knew how to use a sharp stick. In the seconds that they stared, Aeon and the bear both agreed, however, that he should end the misery, cut the line of suffering short. He had made it known that he was 'better', and he had to take the prize, whether he liked it or not. This one had left him with bloodstains.

A swing downward. A whacking sound. The entire forest seemed to be silent the entire time Aeon had dragged the body back to the camp, where he dropped to his knees in exhaustion, his tongue lolling out of his maw. Just as the nature around them, the men were all silent for some time, until Romero and Ambrosio stepped up to him.

A true smile, one of both a sort of pride and satisfaction came to the bishop's face. "Aeon… this I was not expecting. You have indeed done well."

He turned towards the soldiers. "You see! You see! Aeon has not been a burden! He is no beast of _Diablo_! He is a being of blessing! Come, we must skin the _oso pardo_ and prepare it for cooking."

Blessing? Maybe, towards the men, but to do so, he had to kill the bear… and he did it so painfully… he shuddered on his next breath out. No, he was no real blessing to anyone. Not until he could give without taking from someone else.

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(A/N: Hooray, done with chap. 2! R&R please, and tell me if you didn't understand anything that was accented; I'll try to tone it down a bit.)


	3. Chapter 3

(A/N: And, chapter two! I honestly liked the last chapter, and thanks for any reviews I might have gotten. I really appreciate them. Also, sorry for any mistakes I make in the foreign languages, I mostly use the Internet for whatever basics I don't know. And, I'll try and actually put in whatever accent they have; I wasn't' able to do the Greek one, because I don't know it well, and a Spanish accent isn't all that heavy anyway.)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything owned by Namco Bandai, and the Spanish Inquisition is a historical figure, therefore open to interpretation, yaddayaddayadda…

SsSsSsSsSsSs

His journey had been long, hard, and tiresome, but he had made it. The ancient, magnificent tower that he ascended was perilous, and at the top, he had not only defeated the Azure Knight once and for all, as far as he knew, he had also received an explanation of the holy sword's intentions from a womanly ninja; as his mind wandered back to her, he remembered her attractive features: her ebony locks, chocolate eyes, the wondrous curves that were her breasts and hips. The young knight licked his ruddy lips at the thought of her.

However, her strong, stern voice soon invaded his memory, telling him of the imbalance, and how his 'good' blade was doing exactly the same thing to him as was Soul Edge; however, it was following the idea that it is, indeed, the honey that attracts the flies. The thought of being fooled twice, by two opposing energies, was infuriating.

Shaking his head, his lengthy, bright golden hair shimmering in the sunlight, Siegfried Schtauffen opened his eyes, their own ice blue being cooler than the sky. He had received news that, recently, one of the men that he had met several times before, Raphael Sorel, had managed to overthrow the petty members of his family and take a position of power. According to that news, he had also brought himself and Amy, his foster daughter, to France, claiming the family estate. Of this, Siegfried was happy to hear, as it meant that Raphael had finally achieved his goal of putting the greedy in their place. Also, along with the message there came an invitation to the manor, as it seemed Raphael needed to speak with Siegfried personally about something.

His armor clunking with each step, Siegfried made his way along the path from the Rhine River, the northern branch of a small mountain range, the Vosges, standing in front of him. They had little by way of snow; the spring had come, and the ice was beginning to melt away from the world yet again. The sun having broken through the gray of winter and bathed the world in warmth did the same to his own heart, which had little by way of comfort, until Nightmare had been destroyed. Sighing as the purifying light soaked into his body, Siegfried continued on the path that led to the mountains.

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Dull, throbbing pain was Aeon's waking call. Although what he laid curled upon was wooden, around him were iron bars, and just above stood perched another thick, oaken board. Constricting it shut was a series of iron chains, held together by heavy padlocks that looked as though they could be used for the head of a blunt flail. Sitting up, he gave a quick look around, his head feeling very light from the blood running out of it so quickly, and saw that he was in an open cart being tugged by a heavy workhorse. The thing wasn't a Clydesdale, but it was still big. Off to each side marched silently a pair of Spaniards; easily beatable… were he still armed. Once the grogginess had faded, he noticed the absence of his armor, shield and axe, and it was then that he knew just how much danger he was in. Sure, he would be able to possibly take out a few of them with his bare hands, but how much would his image suffer? They already thought of him as a beast. To go off and bite, claw, punch and head butt soldiers into submission, even if he weren't to kill them, he would be looked upon as more of an abomination.

On the other hand, what would they say to a show of intelligence? He could communicate with them, somehow… perhaps signs? Yes, that would work. A small growl, one that was not to sound threatening, went to one of the men on his right. You know, something like, 'Hey you!' Hearing the snarling noise, the soldier turned, a brow raised in confusion. As Aeon was granted the man's attention, he smiled, stretching his arms as far as they would go, even putting his hands out of the cage. Then, he pointed forward with one finger, followed by a low grumble. The soldier mumbled something in Spanish, and then said something he couldn't understand to the one behind him, roughly imitating the same motions that Lizardman had just made. Given a moment of thought, the other soldier asked, "_Bestio_, do you understand me?"

Aeon nodded sharply; of course he understood! How else would he have known to communicate in the first place?

"_Bestio_, did you ask where we are and where we are going?"

This time, Lizardman nodded feverishly; good, someone who could interpret him! The soldier answered, if reluctantly, "We… have traveled from Greece, and are just coming into Croatia. You have been asleep for many days now, although your wound is healed."

Looking down to his shoulder, he gave it a stroke, seeing slightly off-pattern scales, twisted to accommodate the healing. "You heal faster than any man I have met, _bestio_. Even the greatest of warriors would still have worries of reopening a wound as deep as yours was," he told Aeon with a bit of an admiring smile. "As for where we are going, _bestio_, we are headed to Spain, to weigh your sins, and see if you are either a creature of nature or _Diablo_," he continued. If he were to be honest with himself, he was beginning to doubt the story that Father Romero had told him, just from how… human this one had seemed. He was too man-like to be an all-out beast, but because of something, now he was… this. What really happened? Perhaps he could ask one of the survivors of the Athens incident when they next camped…

Lizardman, however, was wondering about exactly how they would be 'testing' the feasibility of his sins. He did, after all, attack one of their holy men, even if it was in the protection of others and himself. But what was he to do? Let Romero strike him down? That would never happen. Ah, well, he would take the consequences of what he did, knowing that his heart was in the right place.

SsSsSsSsSsSs

As he trudged along the path, Siegfried was paying little attention to his surroundings. After all, both of the swords had been silenced, for the most part. There was little for him to worry about; apart from the few people who hadn't yet heard of the demise of the true Azure Knight, none who he'd happened to cross since the recent events at the tower even looked at him. Perhaps it was the fact that he was wandering on foot- not even the poorest of knights were to be seen on foot, unless the terrain dictated otherwise. No matter, he didn't care. At least he wasn't being attacked.

It was not for another hour or so of steady marching that Siegfried was to spot the first soul he'd seen the entire day, a man, a farmer by the look of his wagon and mules, trotting through the foothills. Slowing down so as to let him catch up even quicker, Siegfried stopped him. "_Guten tag_, sir. May I ask vere you are headed?" Siegfried inquired.

The farmer tipped a wide hat to him, one that shaded a leathery, rough face. "I am on my way to Metz, and z'en back to my farm. You need a ride?" he offered, a heavy French accent rolling over his voice.

Siegfried nodded. "_Ja_, my feet and knees are killing me…"

"I do not 'ave any room up front, but sere is plenty in ze wagon. You will 'ave to possibly keep some of ze goods from falling on you, if you don't mind."

Siegfried waved it off with a smile. "Ah, I am glad to just have a sit, I vill not mind at all."

As soon as Siegfried had made his way into the back of the wagon and settled himself in, resting Requiem on the planks and holding up a short stack of crates with his shoulders. "Are you ready?" the farmer yelled back. "_Ja_!" he shouted back.

"Hyah!"

With a crack of the reins, the mules brayed as they started up again, dragging their extra baggage. The ride was only slightly bumpy, unlike when he had last hitched a ride on a cart lead by oxen- that was rough. This one, however, one could sleep on if you were to position yourself to not take a big thump on the head when you hit a bump in the road. Beginning to relax, Siegfried reached into a purse at his belt, and slipped out a lengthy, sky blue, crystalline shard that looked as though it would have been used to spear someone. His mind had begun to open, and the shard, in the shade cast by the boxes surrounding them, pulsed a soft glow.

"Vy… vy did you use me?" he whispered to the crystal.

A faint, yet definitely feminine voice entered his mind, barely able to speak with the little bit of power that it held. '… _I had no choice, Siegfried. Soul Edge and I are related, and it was our destiny to clash yet again. Unlike Soul Edge, however, I have not enough spirits inside to manifest a body, and so I need a wielder. I have faith in both your ability, and in your morals, your sense to do the right thing. On that note, I chose you to take hold of me, and use me to shatter Soul Edge once and for all._'

Siegfried gave a sigh. "But… I know s'at it is not all gone. Some of it is still in dis vorld, having cursed people. It is in s'eir blood, s'eir souls, s'eir families, and it vill remain until eizer d'ey are killed or purified."

'_Then, Siegfried, we can only hope that you can find them and work your own magic before others who are not so gifted do, do you not think? After all, there are few others who are as able to remove the taint as you._'

"I am only able because of you, Soul Calibur."

'_I? Do not be so naïve, Siegfried. All I do is show these things to you, so that you know how to use them. Everyone has these abilities; they are just more prominent in you than others._'

"And because you show me, I am able. It is not as s'ough Soul Edge vould have done so, making you responsible."

Were the shard of Soul Calibur capable, it would have sighed. Siegfried had won the little dispute. The jagged crystal knew that it could have kept nagging on, but it would have most likely gotten nowhere, so it decided to stay silent. From there, the rest of the journey was uneventful, lulling Siegfried to sleep.

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The sky had begun to darken, the sun falling below the horizon. All around, the clouds were everything from pink to wisteria to a dark, grayish-violet. One could even faintly see the moon, having just made itself known somewhere in the east. Lizardman, with nothing better to do, relaxed as well as the cramped space in the cage would allow and spied it, admiring the celestial body that hung in the sky. Its normal silver was lightly tinted with gold as the landscape slowly shaded over, darkening the greens and browns that were European wilderness.

"Men! Make way for camp!"

At those words, Aeon's half-shut eyes perked right up. They were going to stop? Hmm… perhaps he could find a way to work out an escape from this position… however, his mind was broken from this train of thought as the wagons went off of the road and into a clearing, full of tender grass and sparse trees. Arranging themselves into a circle, the wagons and carts unloaded their passengers, all of who helped gather wood to light a bright fire in the middle. It was no bonfire, but the warmth was even felt by Lizardman, who was still left in his cage, distant from the others. The priests gathered in the middle, sharing their blessings and preachings with the soldiers, as if to remind them of how, despite their insignificance to God, He still watched them, and he would punish the sinners, rewarding the well behaved with admittance to Heaven.

To Aeon, it was all wishy-washy nonsense. Why should he believe in some 'God' that hadn't even shown his face, when he had heard, and in some cases, even met the gods of Olympus, ones he knew existed? They could have at least used a bit more imagination in his name, as well; you did not see someone named a title without being cast away or executed, just as the rest of the insane were.

However, one of the things that they had spoken of was the morality that was supposedly upheld by the people- or, to say the least, made aim for. If so, from his experience, Aeon would have to say that these Christians would have quite a ways to go before attaining their idealistic image. They have so many different religious laws, and yet, should their upper tell them something, it seems that these creeds to one's deity become null and void, surpassing even one's morals, merely because they were told to obey their country. Did their souls not matter to them, or were they merely blinded to what its true value was? He, an insane man-beast, even knew that his soul was powerful, invaluable, nonnegotiable! He stretched himself to his limits, working his way to the ends of the earth to find that despicable sword that had taken it from him. In the end, he made it- or, what was left of the sword- give it back.

The motivating thoughts that brewed in Aeon's mind were somewhat troubling, and began to make him stir. The two Spaniards who had to stand guard heard his growling, giving Lizardman looks of suspicion upon the hostile noise. One of them stuck the spearhead of his halberd in through the bars, muttering something in Spanish; it sounded as though it was a threat. Along with reading the hand gestures, it seemed as though he was trying to belittle him… so, the simple man wanted to play that game, huh? Lizardman would show him just what the fool was messing with.

Although it was painful, Lizardman grabbed hold of the spear. It did not cut him, strangely enough- his tough scales, in combination with the poor quality of the weapon must have contributed to the fact. However, it still had just enough of an edge to dig into his skin, causing the discomfort as he jerked it hard, slamming the man's face into the iron bars of the cage, rocking it slightly. As the other tried to thrust his halberd inside, Aeon grasped it just inches before it reached him, and snapped off the head; now, he was the armed one. Using his new blade to hack off the other's weapon, he flipped it to the wooden handle, pointing them at the two now unarmed soldiers. A feral grumble thrummed from the back of his throat, his slit-like pupils darting back and forth, his reptilian tail dancing back and forth in agitation.

However, he soon realized just how foolish he was in his own rite, as the other soldiers were all standing and looking in his direction. They did not have their weapons out yet, although he was certain they would in a moment and skewer him on them. But nothing came, no panic, no dashing for the weapons, not a thing. Beginning to get confused, Aeon let the heads of the halberds settle, looking back and forth among the soldiers, wondering what was about to happen… that is, until he heard the light clapping. A tall, balding man with gray hair and a clean-shaven face stepped forward. His hard features had high cheekbones, and his steel gray eyes were noticeable even in what little light there was left. His rich, billowing robes were even more elegant than Father Romero's, who was following with an expression of absolute fury; a purple mark still adorned his face where the foreheads of him and Lizardman met. However, the other man had an amused look, as though he hadn't seen anything that spectacular in years. "Bishop, _lo siento_, but this was exactly what I had been talking about! The_ bestio_ is too dangerous to be dealt with all the way to Spain! He will strike again, and next time, he will kill our men!"

The bishop gave Lizardman a long, hard stare, one that he had only felt from a few others, most of them not even being human. It felt as if those chilled titanium orbs of his were sending rays of light that were shooting right through him, boring all the way through his soul and giving him the strictest of judgments. A hand going to his chin, the bishop asked one of the soldiers, "_Habla_?" The one who stepped up and answered was the one who Aeon had communicated with earlier that day. "No, Father, he does not speak at all. He can 'talk' with signs, however, Father."

"Ah, _bueno_. We can all understand what we see better than what we hear. Perhaps you should stay, for help with understanding his efforts, _señor_?"

"_Si_, Father."

Turning back to Aeon, the bishop introduced himself. "I am bishop and Inquisitor, Father Ambrosio II, and you have caught my eye. Can you write?"

Aeon nodded. "Would you write your name?"

His name… what was his name? He didn't really know anymore. He had regained the soul of Aeon Calcos, but his body, what everyone else called him… 'Lizardman'… to himself, he was Aeon, the Spartan, the follower and warrior of Hephaestus sent out to destroy Soul Edge! But what was he to these people? To almost all of them, he was a beast, it seemed. Even the one who had yet to show hostility still thought he was a creature that could not coexist with man. But… this one, this Ambrosio character… he could not place the man's feelings. Perhaps he should be the man just this once, to show that he is not as much of an animal as they would like to think. Gripping the head of one of the halberds with the spearhead pointing downwards, he drove it into the oaken platform on which he sat, digging out in Greek lettering, "AEON".

Father Ambrosio gave his rough scratching a look, and then asked, "Your name is Aeon?" Glancing back and forth between the soldiers, he then nodded, as if to tell them all that he wasn't this 'beast' they continued to talk about; after all, a beast wouldn't have it's own name, right? Father Ambrosio smiled, and said, "I know of no _bestio_ that would be able to fight the way you just did, or do what the stories from the soldiers and Father Romero say you have done. There is far too much man in you for that to be true.

"You still have committed the terrible sin of striking down a noble servant of our Lord God, and for that you will be punished. Should you be forgiven for your sins, we will let you free, but until then you are still under our power. Comprende?"

Although Aeon had little idea what the Spanish word was, he still had a good idea what he meant by it all, and nodded in compliance. It seemed that he was going to be let off a bit easier on this one. "Now, let him out of the cage. He may not be human, but that does not mean you should treat him like an animal. He is able to think just like you… and in some cases, it seems, much better than you, _soldados estupido_*…" (*Stupid soldiers)

Romero was shocked to the core. What was going on through the bishop's mind? "Father, surely you cannot mean-"

"_Silencio_! I have heard enough of your foolishness for some time, Romero!"

Holding back his frustration, Romero pulled the keys to the locks on Aeon's cage from his belt, unlocking each one with a grumble as he went. As soon as each chain was unlocked, one of the troops came to pull it off, and within two minutes, Aeon was free. He was disarmed as they took the ends of the halberds from him, but he was out of that blasted cage. Offering a hand to him, Father Ambrosio smiled warmly as he said, "Now, Aeon, come join us in prayer. When we are done, I am sure you will enjoy our next activity…"

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A sharp bump in the road jarred Siegfried to his senses, having shaken the entire cart violently. Looking up at the sky, it was nearly nightfall, with Venus and the moon already plainly visible. Knowing that there were probably more coming up, he decided it best to not try and sleep again.

In his palm, Soul Calibur still rested. It was silent, not having anything to say in general, so Siegfried slipped it back into the pouch. That was one of the few things that he couldn't afford to lose. Within seconds of doing so, he began to hear odd hoof beats… they sounded as though they were coming from up ahead. As soon as they stopped, so did the farmer's mules.

"_Atteindre le ciel!_*" (*Reach for the sky!)

The farmer sounded harried…highwaymen. Just wonderful. One of them sounded as though he had gotten off of his horse, and had begun walking behind the wagon to find what he could rob the man of.

He wasn't sure just what it was about what he saw that did it to him, but something made the highwayman nearly wet himself. Maybe it was the icy blue eyes that pierced him to his heart, or the intimidating scar that ran over one of them, or perhaps it was just the simple fact that a five-foot long piece of steel was pointed at his chest. It didn't matter anyway, because whatever it was, it made him listen intently. Siegfried, a scowl on his face, put his finger to his pursed lips, telling him to keep silent. The man nodded fearfully.

At the front of the wagon, the other highwayman was getting quite irritated at how long his partner was taking. This was supposed to be a quick, clean operation; they get in, get the stuff, and get out. What was taking him? Calling back, he yelled, "Ai, Louis! What iz ze 'oldup, eh?"

Rolling his eyes, Siegfried nodded to him, and Louis replied, "Z'ere is nussing but cash crops, nussing to take on 'orseback."

"Ach! You are blind! Zere iz always somesing!"

Siegfried waved his hand, signaling Louis to move. As the man came around on his horse, Siegfried leapt from the wagon, zweihander at the ready. Giving it a high swing, he managed to swat the surprised highwayman from his horse, making the beast of burden stumble slightly, but the man fell off, clutching his side where he had been struck. It felt as though he'd broken several ribs. Kicking the pistol of the downed highwayman away from them, Siegfried pressed the tip of Requiem against the chest of Louis again. "Disarm yourself!" he barked. Drawing his own pistol, he too dropped it and kicked it off to the side. "Now, you see vat you've done? Your foolish choices in profession have gotten your friend vounded, and you are now out two horses. In fact, vy don't you give se farmer you tried to rob your possessions. I am sure he deserves at least s'is, for se trouble you've caused."

"Please, don't-"

"Be kind to se poor farmer," Siegfried interrupted. "Your horses alone vill not pay for his taxes, my friend," he said, taking a step forward, intimidating Louis even further. Nodding fervently, Louis began to empty his pockets, which were full of various coins, shot, powder, and a few odds and ends. Siegfried gave a sniff. "And your comrade, he has de same?"

Another nod. Siegfried sighed. "Vat is on se horses?" he asked, to which Louis answered, "Our own food, ze food for ze horses, and a few ozzer t'ings zat we've taken from ze last carriages we've run into. Please do not t'row away ze foo-"

Siegfried held up his hand. "_Stille_! De food vill not be vasted, vorry not. Get a bag, and pack bot' of your belongings into it. Give it to me ven you are done," he ordered. Stepping over to his horse, Louis obeyed, while Siegfried picked up the two pistols, hanging them from his belt. When Louis was finished, he told him, "Take your food from se horses. S'at is all you vill keep from s'em, as I cannot let you starve. I am not cruel like s'at, you see."

Listening explicitly, Louis just took their own food from the horsebacks, waiting for what was to come up next. However, he couldn't help but ask, "What of Edgard? He iz hurt, and cannot do anyt'ing on his own, let alone lift a heavy load. Iz sere somesing you can do…?"

Siegfried sighed. It was about the last thing he wanted to do, the last thing that he would have wanted to show anyone; Soul Calibur was a powerful force, and even in its degraded state, it still held notable strength. "_Ja_… s'ere is, actually. All I ask is s'at you tell not a soul of vat you see tonight. You must svear!" Louis nodded sharply to this; his most sincere wish at the moment was to see his dear friend be saved.

Kneeling down to the other highwayman, Siegfried drew the shard of Soul Calibur and held it in his left hand. Placing his right on the man's side, the fallen one began to recoil as the slightest contact sent sharp, stabbing pains all the way through his whole body. "Be still!" Siegfried whispered harshly. Focusing his mind onto the shard, he let his soul connect to it, and the energies began to flow into him from the artifact. Energy, recovery, curing, purification, life, all those concepts and more were manifest in the power that Siegfried wielded. Between his palm and the man's ribs, a light of a radiant sky blue began to appear, near blinding in brightness. Although at first it seemed as though it would be agonizing, the other highwayman showed no signs of pain at all once his ribs began to snap back into place on their own. As they did so, he gasped in relief, the suffering having been replaced with comfort and energy over the wound. As Siegfried finished, he took his hand from the man and stood shakily, panting for breath. "How did you do zat?" Louis asked breathlessly.

Siegfried, however, was not in the mood for questions. He drew one of the pistols, and told them, "Leave me alone…"

"But-"

He cocked the pistol. "Go."

Scrambling to his feet, the other man helped grab their things and warned, "Louis, I believe we should listen…"

"I need to know-"

"_LASS MICH IN RUHE_*!" Siegfried screamed, at which the two men bolted. Sitting on the edge of the wagon and laying down the gun, Siegfried rested his head in his hand. It throbbed as if someone had tied a cord extremely tight around it, and the pressure was nearly unbearable. Looking at Soul Calibur, he asked, "I… I did se right s'ing, didn't I? I gave s'em d'eir one last chance to change…" (*Leave me alone/Get lost!)

'_One chance? That is saying quite a lot, Siegfried. Look at what you have done with one chance. You have saved the world, protected countless souls from being devoured._'

"In von chance? It has taken me eight years of chances to do s'is, and you know s'at."

"So, how did ze whole robbery turn out, eh?"

Startled by the sudden appearance of the farmer, Siegfried quickly slid Soul Calibur into the pouch it was always kept. "Don't worry, your secret is safe wit' me. It seems you managed to get quite a bit from ze highwaymen, eh? Zey've been around zis place for some time now, and I've met zem twice before. It's nice to know zat you've changed zem up like zis."

Siegfried nodded tiredly. "_Ja_; injustice like s'at tends to grind my nerves."

"_Oui, oui,_" the farmer said. "You seem very tired, _monsieur_. You can finish your ride to Metz, and I will let you have un of ze 'orses, if you like," he offered.

Siegfried blinked at him. "_Ja_? You are most generous, sir. _Vielen Dank_*." (*Many thanks.)

After helping him gather his new belongings, Siegfried hopped back into the farmer's wagon again, falling asleep almost instantly. He needed it anyway- he did, after all, just rob two men of almost everything they had.

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The prayers and preaching Aeon found slightly boring, although he tried to be respectful to Father Ambrosio by paying attention. In spite of his efforts, he still lost his wary eye to other things that came into view, such as the occasional mosquito or horsefly, which could have carried on it numerous diseases just waiting to be switched into someone's blood and spread wide massacre across the troops. Or the bear that ventured near, curious as to what the smoke and smells of many men and strange foods meant. Even a moth, fluttering by silently with the moon as its compass, wasn't stealthy enough to not be a distraction.

As the nightly service was finished, Ambrosio stepped down from his pedestal and walked to Aeon. "Aeon, my son, it seems something has kept you from grasping the words of the Bible. You were turning back and forth, as if there were things around you that you could not ignore. Am I right, child?"

Aeon nodded. "Then, perhaps, I should entertain you. These places are filled with game, ready to be plucked by a skilled predator. We have our rations, but we would all be more than grateful were you to bring back something for us all to enjoy, something more than just the dried meat and bread as usual. Would you hunt for us? I have faith in your coming back, Aeon," he said, placing a hand on Aeon's shoulder.

Here, lying right in front of him to take was a perfect chance for him to escape. Should he do it? If they were to arm him for the hunt as well, then he would be more than ready to take on whatever would come at him for a strike team. But… the bishop trusted him. He had faith in him. There was just something about that that wouldn't let him betray the man. So, as he stood up, he extended his hand in a sign of trust. Smiling in a way that betrayed his eyes, Ambrosio grasped it firmly, giving it a light shake.

It was only within another ten minutes that the entire event had been arranged. Aeon was armed to the teeth: a spear in his hand and another over his back, and a belt with a knife and a hatchet, all picked by Aeon himself. Slinking out and into the shadows, he gave a snort; his nightly senses then took hold. Many scents came to him, the soft earth, the velvet of the moss, the majestic trees. As he ventured farther, the plants began to grow thicker, the smells stronger, the sounds sharper. He could pick up the earthy mushrooms that grew in the shadow of fallen logs, the occasional fleeting hare, and other vermin, but nothing worth his spear as of yet. The bear that had been around before had left, considering the payoff of their food not worth neither the risk nor the effort of fighting them all off.

The land began to sway, sometimes sharply, falling into ravines, other times softly, rolling gently into hills, but all were decorated with both trees and flora. Now Aeon was able to smell the larger game, the mouflon, deer, and the occasional lynx. Once, he even could have sworn to hear a wolf call out, although he shook it off as just the wind.

Continuing on through the wood that had yet to be tread upon by man, he finally caught scent of something that the soldiers would be proud of him for. It was musky, fat, and by the smell of all the other food on it, quite a messy eater. A wild boar. Slowing down his pace to be as stealthy as possible, he snuck up on it unsuspectingly. It was only about ten yards away, standing right next to a tree as it wolfed down the leafy greens of some strange plant that grew near the roots. Silently, Aeon readied his spear, taking aim with deadly precision.

However, in spite of the fact that he made no noise at all, the boar made a squeal and ran, as if it sensed something far more dangerous than itself, ready to pounce. What was it? Turning around, Aeon was shocked to witness a bear, over seven feet high, standing right behind him. Jumping backwards, his spear now in a position to thrust rather than throw, he let a roar, one that could be heard all the way back at the camp. The bear matched it with one of his own, even louder and deeper than Aeon's own, saliva and rank breath washing over his face as the ursine creature leaned forward for his own attempt at intimidation.

And yet, Aeon did not falter, standing his ground, making sure that neither one would give into the other. The animal of him knew that the bear had accepted his challenge, and when the bear made a swipe at his head, Aeon smoothly ducked the enormous, slow, yet deadly paw. He knew that the chest plate on the front of the bear would be too thick to penetrate properly, so he would have to get him from the side. But the bear was able to turn itself too fast for Aeon to get a proper shot! How would he do it?

Ah! He could get it distracted first. Shifting his movements to something more resembling dancing, he began to poke and prod at the bear, making growls and hisses, attempting to agitate it. All the while, Aeon backed up steadily, hopping side to side, until he finally backed into a tree. The bear, now on all fours, made a snap at him- but missed! Aeon had made an instinctual dodge that let him just barely evade the bite, making the bear smash his head into the tree. While the bear still was recovering from its dizziness, Aeon quickly aimed his spear, and, at the bear's side, drew back and thrust forward with all his might, nearly impaling the beast all the way through.

Leaping back, he drew the other spear, readying himself for whatever the bear planned next. In the fit of bloody rage that was inspired by the agony, the bear charged forward with what effort that it had left, barreling over Aeon and pinning him to the ground. Holding back the immense paws with his spear, Aeon was barely able to even keep the beast from mauling him to shreds. Then, in one chomp, Aeon watched in horror as the bear's teeth clenched around the handle of the spear, grinding the wood to a pulp.

The situation was desperate indeed. And, in such times, one is required to act just as desperately. As he felt the handle of the spear give way, Aeon knew that the bear was about to come down on top of him, and from there, he was totally vulnerable. He had to do something! So, what was it that he did, you ask? Once the bear was about to bite down again, Aeon bit back himself, clamping his jaws over the bear's snout, digging his sharp fangs into the soft skin, the tough cartilage, and the hard bone. The feeling of the teeth burying themselves into its nose was blinding, and the bear could feel blood running down its snout; no matter how much it shook, however, the assailant wouldn't let go!

But finally, after his neck and jaw muscles were worn to what felt like nothing, Aeon finally released the bear, which stumbled away, roaring in pain. Shooting to his feet, Aeon grabbed the shortened spear and charged forward, driving it into the other side of the bear as deep as his hands would allow. Backing off again, Aeon watched as it began to walk away, drunkenly, desperately trying to keep itself alive. An occasional moan escaped from it, showing its suffering to the superior predator. Finally, it collapsed on the ground, its breathing heavy, slow, painfully so. Stepping up to it, Aeon drew his hatchet. Their eyes met, the bear's full of sadness and sorrow, Aeon's full of pity and remorse. It hurt his heart to see something so powerful, so strong, to be brought down by a creature who merely knew how to use a sharp stick. In the seconds that they stared, Aeon and the bear both agreed, however, that he should end the misery, cut the line of suffering short. He had made it known that he was 'better', and he had to take the prize, whether he liked it or not. This one had left him with bloodstains.

A swing downward. A whacking sound. The entire forest seemed to be silent the entire time Aeon had dragged the body back to the camp, where he dropped to his knees in exhaustion, his tongue lolling out of his maw. Just as the nature around them, the men were all silent for some time, until Romero and Ambrosio stepped up to him.

A true smile, one of both a sort of pride and satisfaction came to the bishop's face. "Aeon… this I was not expecting. You have indeed done well."

He turned towards the soldiers. "You see! You see! Aeon has not been a burden! He is no beast of _Diablo_! He is a being of blessing! Come, we must skin the _oso pardo_ and prepare it for cooking."

Blessing? Maybe, towards the men, but to do so, he had to kill the bear… and he did it so painfully… he shuddered on his next breath out. No, he was no real blessing to anyone. Not until he could give without taking from someone else.

LlLlLlLlLlLl

(A/N: Hooray, done with chap. 2! R&R please, and tell me if you didn't understand anything that was accented; I'll try to tone it down a bit.)


	4. Chapter 4

(A/N: This is, partly, a meanwhile chapter. Once the _meanwhile_'s done, I plan on continuing normally throughout the rest of it. Also, there is a character whose accent… I can give you good reason as to what it will be(more like what it won't be), and why. And, following the suggestion of a reviewer, I'll just put the translations at the end of the paragraph that they're in.)

AaAaAaAaAaAa

"Rothion… where do we plan on going now? Almost all of my family that I have left is with us now."

The night was warm, and as the family had gathered what they could carry, they were marching out of the city. Rothion had felt some disappointment in the fact that he had been robbed of his forge and his home, but he still held high spirits in the fact that he knew where to go next. "We are headed south, Sophitia. I have family that lives in both Crete and Sparta; however, my Spartan family is somewhat ashamed of my not turning to becoming a warrior. For that, we head to the island. We have more than enough to pay for a ride on a boat, if we pool our money togeth-"

"What! Rothion, I've been saving my money for the longest time!" Cassandra yelled. "I… I _need_ it!"

"But _we_ need it more than _you_, Cassandra," Lucius fired back. "What do you plan on wasting away your money on that would be more valuable than your family?"

She paused, blushing slightly. Her face turned away from everyone else, she said bashfully, "… Shoes."

There was a pause, the awkward silence giving the hint that it was taking some time for the information to gather and compute properly in the brains of them all. Cassandra looked at them, hoping that they would understand her situation, that they could comprehend her need for varying footwear-

Lucius, Pyrrha and Patrokolos all burst into roaring laughter, putting no boundaries on their humorous outlook at her compulsions. Rothion tried and failed miserably at stifling his own laugh, his chuckle slipping through the wire fence and getting away. He certainly found it absolutely hilarious, but he did his best to not humiliate his sister-in-law as badly as her own blood brother. Cassandra's eyes, which were now brimming with tears, looked to Sophitia praying that perhaps she could get some comfort, for she knew her beloved sister would help her, but to no avail; Sophitia merely smiled and shook her head at Cassandra, who then dropped to her knees and began to wail in sorrow. No one knew how bad it was, how much it annoyed her to feel the irksome sensation of knowing of a certain kind of boot, shoe, or sandal, and not having it! It drove her _mad_!

Having buckled over in abdominal pain, his chest heaving from the thought of Cassandra being suffocated by an avalanche of leather, cork and shoe buckles, Lucius put a hand on Cassandra's shoulder, making a sorry attempt to both comfort her and straighten himself. Through his panting, he told her, "I'm sorry… but… _shoes_! That… is the most… ridiculous thing… I've ever heard!"

He finally pushed himself up, and offered his hand to Cassandra. "Please, accept my apology. I was simply… not expecting something like that."

Tears silently running down her face, Cassandra gave a sniffle and let herself be hefted to her feet. Her eyes could not meet anyone else's the entire walk to the docks that night.

RrRrRrRrRrRr

"Ah, _oui_, you lovely little sparrow. You know who 'e iz; take zis to 'im, and make sure zat ze letter comes to no harm, eh?"

Inside the manor house on a hill just at the edge of Paris, a nobleman with blond hair and red eyes had very lightly tied a small piece of parchment to the leg of a raven. The bird looked slightly ruffled, as though it had been caught by something, and it had a pair of fierce, yet menacing, red-black orbs. Holding up another blond hair, although this one was quite lengthy, the raven held it in its beak. As it grasped the strand, its eyes flashed from their own blackish red to a brilliant, ice blue, just for a moment, then back to their devilish color again. Opening the window to his chamber, he gracefully flung the bird to the heavens, letting it spread its wings. In unnatural fluidity, it did just that, soaring away and making its way to the east. The man was quite sure that the raven knew where it was headed.

Just as he closed the window, a knock was heard on his door. "_Oui_?"

"_Monsieur_ Sorel, _Madame_ Sorel seems to be feeling ill. Somezing has made her… fearful iz not ze word, more like _terrified_, _monsieur_," a servant informed. The voice belonged to one of the maids.

His own face growing over with concern, Raphael snatched his rapier, Flambert, from a rack above his desk. Throwing open his doors, he sped through the hallways and to the bedroom of the girl. What could it be that troubled her so? A ghost that haunted this place, that perhaps they were previously unaware of? If so, he would terrorize the soul into submission himself. Or was it merely a nightmare? He could comfort her from one of these; he had done so many a time. Or… no. Soul Edge was long gone, Siegfried had told him so. He even felt the influence of it leaving him, ebbing away as the time passed by. However, he would still make sure.

Stepping into the room, he saw his little daughter, her bright red, wavy locks plastered with cold sweat to her forehead. Her eyes were wide open, and she was breathing very hard, very fast. Stepping up to his paled daughter, he sat down on the bed, placing the back of his hand on her forehead. She had no fever… yes, something had frightened her witless indeed. "Amy… what iz wrong?" he asked warmly, softly, lovingly.

"Sh-it… zat… zat t'ing 'as come back! It tried to eat me!"

"Oh!" Raphael called out. He decided that she must have had a nightmare- Amy tended to still be somewhat delusional after such episodes. "It did? What, may I ask, does zis sing look like?" he asked, an expression of pseudo-worry.

Amy knew that he wasn't taking her seriously. Why would he? After all, she was only just a little girl… a little girl, going about her own little life, doing nothing but little things. She was fourteen! Nearly old enough to marry! And he still kept her about like she wasn't even ten years old! However, this reasoning didn't come to her at the moment; true fear had soaked through to her soul, and left her beyond normal thought. It would obviously come to her eventually, once Raphael brought about her comfort. But until then, she was a scared and shivering little thing, in need of someone's arms. His free arm going around her shoulder and hugging her tightly, he continued in his soothing voice, "Pleaze, Amy, tell me what it looks like, so zat I may crush it and keep it from us forever…"

Amy gave a shudder. "it has lotz of _cheveux noirs*_, pale skin, and ze eyes…" (_*_black hair)

"_Oui_, and what about ze eyes?"

"… _Pourpre_… ze eyes are _pourpre_!" At that, Amy burst into tears, her body still clammy everywhere except her cheeks, reddened from her crying. Raphael nuzzled up to her in a fatherly way, clucking his tongue softly before saying, "Oh, no no no no, do not cry, Amy… zis sing cannot 'urt you wit' me by your side. You know zat, eh? Let us find ze troublesome _créature_, so we can be rid of it once and for all."

Picking up one of the oil lamps sitting at her bedside, Raphael took it to begin searching around her rather large room. Beyond the light of her bed, or the doorway, there was little visible to begin with, and so he had to have something to let him see clearly. "Perhaps it iz… in 'ere?" he said with mock-caution as he slowly opened the closet door with his rapier. Stepping inside as smoothly as a cat, his thin sword at the ready, he disappeared into the darkness. Amy watched in anticipation and dread. Suddenly…

"Ai! A-HA!"

Amy leapt to her feet on her bed as she heard the whipping sound of the air being sliced in half by the sharp blade of her foster father's sword. What had he found? Was it the thing? Stepping out with a dirty blouse on the edge of his rapier, Raphael said to Amy, "It seemz zat over 'ere was merely your _vêtements_; no _créature_, but we should perhaps clean up soon."

Flinging the blouse to the side as he stepped to the bed, crawling under, Raphael began to mumble to what sounded like another person. Amy listened intently to what was going on beneath her mattress, attempting to gather some of what he was saying, but to no avail- he was simply too quiet. Giving a slight cough from the dust as he slipped out from the bottom, he smiled up at Amy, informing her, "I asked the _monstre_ under your bed, and he seemz to have seen not'ing."

Amy, who had begun to recompose herself somewhat by then, gave a sigh of embarrassment. She recognized her father's actions for what they were- mockery, humor, and attempts to make her feel comfort in replacement of the fear that had filled her heart from before. She had to admit, she wasn't scared any longer; he did do a good job at that… but she wasn't a little girl! She did not deserve this treatment! _Why_ did the servants have to come to her room at the slightest of noises?

Sitting back up with Amy, Raphael began to recline on one of his arms as he said to her, "You see, zere iz not'ing to be afraid of, Amy. A _créature_ would be long gone by now, especially wit' your _pére_ around." He calmly stroked the hair from her face. "You will be fine. Whatever wazzere iz gone. And, should zey 'ave ze nerve to show zere faces again, you can just call your _pére_ and he will chase zem all away for you. And I will make sure zat zey _never_ come back." A kiss was planted on Amy's forehead, and he stepped from the room. "_Bonne nuit ma chérie_," he whispered softly, blowing another kiss. What he did not notice, not until he'd reached his study again, was the drop of moisture that was on his collar. He brushed it off, assuming it was merely from Amy's tears.

Dropping from Amy's ceiling, a teenage girl wearing an offshoot, of sorts, of bright red lederhosen with aqua green feathers fell with inhuman grace and femininity. Wiping the sweat from her nose, she gave a sigh of relief. Amy looked at her in the warm glow of the lamp that was nearby. Her raven-red hair only looked more sinister with the dim, golden light, and her purple eyes were bright and shimmering. In spite of her villainous look, her face held an expression of cheer. "That was close, huh?" she said, her childish voice grinding against Amy's nerves.

Managing to somehow keep her face straight without gritting her teeth, Amy answered with a small nod. _This_ was the _créature_ that she was talking about… she scooted backwards on her bed, keeping her eye on the girl. "Is something… _wrong_?" the girl asked. "You don't like me or Tira anymore?" she wondered, her eyes watering suddenly at what seemed like the drop of a hat.

"No, _mademoiselle_, I am just-"

Jerking her head to one side, casting an eerie shadow over her face, the girl then snarled, "_Then we'll just make you absolutely _adore_ us!_" Flipping over the footboard, the girl pinned Amy to the bed with one of her gauntleted hands, the other going over her mouth to keep her from making a shriek. The feeling of the cool bronze digging into her tender skin through her thin silk nightdress was both terrifying and exhilarating- she had no idea whether she wanted to keep the hand over her chest or take it off. The girl up above shook her head again, the expression shifting again to eyes of worry and sadness. "You aren't going to scream… are you?"

Amy slowly bobbed her head side to side. A smile came to the bipolar girl's face, cocking her head to the right as she felt herself suddenly burst with happiness- it was as if the world could be coming to its end, and she could still be dancing around in joy! All because a little redhead told her that she would be quiet? What _nonsense_. And yet, she still grinned from ear to ear.

'_She'll probably_ _scream anyway, the little rat,_' her darker insides grumbled. Ignoring the suspicion put forth, the girl took her armored palm from Amy's face, which then started panting lightly instead of the expected shriek. The teenage girl then sat on her knees, taking her hands off of Amy entirely and letting the little one position herself rightly. She turned her head away from Amy slightly, her pale cheeks getting slightly pink as she said apologetically, "I'm sorry about Gloom. She's been a lot meaner lately…"

"_Vos excuses sont acceptées*_, Tira. But still… you do not seem yourself tonight, not now, not when you first came in. What 'as 'appened?" Amy asked, interlocking her own soft, bare fingers with Tira's strong, armored ones. (_*_I accept your apology, …)

Tira was reluctant to answer, and although the question was something that had slightly downed her spirits, she still held a smirk that she wouldn't have been able to wipe away if she tried. "Soul Edge… since it's been destroyed, we've been having a hard time getting used to much. Well, at least Gloom has. She didn't take losing the big playmate very well…"

"_Of course I didn't! He was our best excuse to kill anything we wanted!_" snapped her dark side, making Amy jump slightly. "But now, we've got you to play with! You're our _best friend_!" Tira said while reverting to a jovial attitude yet again. A hug went around Amy's shoulders, causing the young lady to gasp as her face went into Tira's breast; certainly not expected. It was only through great effort that she was able to wrench her way from the assassin's death grip. "_Oui_… I see…" she panted, her breath finally coming to her.

Tira whipped her legs around and sat at the edge of the bed, her large eyes still on Amy. "I miss 'aving you around, Tira." The red head whispered.

The orchid irises were only partly masked by her eyelids as Tira gave a crooked, yet half-hearted smile, replying with, "Yeah, I miss you too." There was a silence as the two of them continued to look at one another for several seconds. Finally, Tira, who began to liven up quite brightly, interrupted it with, "Hey, at least it's not like it was back a few months ago; I only got to see you twice! I may have to go here pretty quick, but I'll be back in about a week, maybe a day or two past that. I'll see you soon then!"

Standing up cheerfully, Tira stepped to the window as she waved- dare I say it- _cutely_. Amy returned it weakly as Tira gracefully leapt from the window like a cat, neither seen nor heard by the guard that Raphael had established. It hurt Amy's heart to see her only friend leave, even with the knowledge that she would be back. Tira had yet to break a promise; Amy would have trusted her with her life. But the fact that her _pére _had walked in and brought with him the drama- ooh! It showed that he still cared. She knew that he more than cared, he loved her with all of his heart. He had tried to change the world for her thrice over. He may have failed, but they at least showed the amount of effort he was willing to put into everything, just to make her happy. A small bout of acting was nothing in comparison to fighting demons, lizardmen, wizards, and various other nasties that should not be part of the world. But still, he was to be… _pére_, and being her _pére_ held him in a certain, very deep spot of her tainted heart. Friendship was merely a role that he was not able to fulfill.

His fatherly love did help her, something like a crutch when she felt too sad to bear it anymore. Either he would sense that something was wrong and come to her, or he would have set up something grand to show that he most certainly did not ignore her, giving her a very pleasant surprise indeed. But the friendliness, even with the twisted, erratic behavior, was something that she could not live without. Flopping to her back, she gave a cracked sigh, showing signs of tears about to come; Amy already missed her again. Closing her eyes, letting a tear or two leak from her eyelids, the redheaded girl fell into a troubled sleep, unaware that they had a certain guest who would be on his way very soon.

AlAlAlAlAlAl

Having managed to twist words to let the sailors have them aboard the ship of a merchant who was headed for Crete, the Athenian family had mostly set themselves to recline that night. It wasn't until dawn that they had seen the line on the horizon that told them land was near. The women had stayed asleep with the children; Rothion and Lucius had taken shift, as per the agreement that they would be able to cross the sea. Rothion was no sailor, but he was more than able to lift his share of a load; he would load the cart for the merchant as they landed, and Lucius had quite the knowledge of knots, those that were simple, and those that were extremely complex; yet with any of them, he could make two ropes hold many men in weight, and still have plenty of room to work with.

As Lucius had just finished his routine, he leaned against the wooden rails lining the ship alongside Rothion. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, his young, shirtless skin was lucky to have been doing so at night; it was a warm night, but the moon does not sear tender and pale flesh. The both of them looked on as the golden orb at the horizon continued to rise, warming the land and sea. In spite of the awkwardness that the silence had managed to bring about while it lasted, Lucius still wrought out of his courage the mind to break it. "You think that we will be able to deal with all this? After all, I am quite sure that they have plenty of smiths in Crete. What will you do to find money?"

Rothion laughed slightly. "Well Lucius, I _am_ a blacksmith. I can make any fire that our bakers would need for their bread and pastry." The two of them chuckled, Lucius giving Rothion a slap on the back. It seemed that they still were at least optimistic…

Not long after sighting the docks, the ship had landed, and Lucius' black eye had begun to fade already. Lucius escorted Cassandra and Sophitia off the boat; the sailors had begun to eye the two of them in very suspicious ways. Rothion, however, stayed behind to help with the cargo, and did quite a good job, stacking it quickly, yet neatly, and with care. Just as he had finished the load for this stop, the merchant who owned the ship approached him. "You have done a great service my friend," he told him. "But, you still owe me."

Rothion looked at him confusedly. "What? I thought we had agreed that-"

"We _agreed_," the merchant interrupted, "that you and Lucius were free to board, as you were working. I will let your children go as well, as an offer of generosity. But the women; they have done nothing to pay their fare, and my men have their own needs."

Rothion looked at the merchant, who was much smaller indeed, with a twisted face of hate and fury as he heard the words spill from the man's lips. "They will _not_ touch _either_ of them!" he bellowed. He raised his fist, about to strike the man down, until her heard the hammer of a pistol ready itself. "Neither will you, until my men are done," the merchant said with a plain face.

Sophitia looked at the ravenous sailors who approached them at the dock with an expression of pity. She felt sorry that they had to resort to such things, just to satisfy something so… so… _animalistic_. As for Cassandra, she felt quite the opposite. Her own face was contorted to show her violent opposition, ready to beat them all down and grind their faces into the cobblestones if need be. "Lucius… take Pyrrha and Patrokolos away from here. What had happened at our house was more than enough for them; they have no need to see this," Sophitia told him. Nodding, Lucius hitched them up by the waist, one under each arm, and began to run down the streets to a nearby inn.

The merchant, a rich set of attire adorning him, turned both he and Rothion around to watch the scene. "I will make another bet with you, my friend. If your two women can beat my crew, then I will let them go. And, should they win, you would most certainly have not to worry about us again; their pride is much too fragile to stay with them after being fended off by two wenches." It seemed that the merchant, although he was fairly certain that he would win, still always liked to wager something. The thought of a possibility of loss always made the prospect of a challenge more exciting.

But, it was not long after that the man soon began to regret his decision. As the men piled in after them, the Greek women just as quickly beat them away with their bare hands. They were not the legends that had been known in Sparta from the ancient times, but the men's numbers were declining fast as they crawled away or merely fell to the ground, unconscious and oblivious to the rest of the chaos.

Grabbing one of the brawny men of the sea by the top of his head and throwing his face onto her knee, Sophitia was too distracted to see the other man come up from behind her and tackle her to the ground. Her cry of pain brought Cassandra's attention away from her relentless and sound whippings being dealt out, just long enough to be pinned to the ground herself, her arms held behind her back. The merchant scoffed to Rothion, "Looks like I win," grateful that his suspicions had not taken place.

He could not bear it! The sight of them held to the ground, about to be… by the gods, if he were able to, he would have taken his hammer and smashed all of their heads in long ago! The merchant arrogantly stepped forward, the pistol only pointed at Rothion lazily, the rich man's eyes elsewhere. Rothion balled his hands into enormous, tight, white-knuckled fists, baring his teeth as his entire body shook. "Take them on board! We'll be needing some privacy to get to- ugh!"

Rothion's anvil-hand smashed into the side of the merchant's skull; his knuckles collided with the cheekbones, grinding them to shards, knocking out several teeth at once. The man fell over, blood leaking from his mouth as he felt his world go black- it was as though he had been kicked in the face by a horse!

Rothion stomped forward, his face reddening by the second, eyes bloodshot, and saliva spraying with his raving madness, delivering a vicious uppercut to one of the remaining sailors. Teeth cracked, and the mandible shattered like it was made of brittle ice. As they surrounded him, he looked on with a rage held only by the most furious of men, and began to strike them down, nearly as well as Sophitia and Cassandra had been. He took a few blows, mostly glancing ones, but as the last one to stand had managed to land a solid jab on his nose, he heard a _crunch_- it was broken. Blinded by the sharp pain, Rothion gave a loud yell as he waved to grab the dancing man, who was just able to stay out of his reach, landing the occasional punch or two. Finally, out of sheer luck, Rothion's hand gripped the man's wrist, and he held on tight, pushing the both of them to the ground with the force of a bull. He crashed their foreheads together as hard as his dulled senses would let him, until he could no longer feel the man moving.

Standing with a pose that showed he was as worn as if he had loaded the entire ship on his own, Rothion tiredly wiped the blood from his eyes, flinging it to the ground. His reddened, puffy eyes stared at the two who had tried to sneak their way back to the ship while he had fought through the last of their comrades. "I…" he panted at them, walking towards the foursome with a shambling gait, "have lost my smithy… my shop… my very home… but I will not lose my family… to a bunch… of depraved weaklings!" His knuckles and forehead all dripped with the red stuff, making the blacksmith look as though he'd just walked from tenderizing a side of beef with his face and hands. His expression of near-insane rage certainly added onto the intimidation factor as well, making the two men drop his wife and sister-in-law and flee to the ship. As he watched them run away in such a cowardly manner, Rothion collapsed to his hands and knees as the adrenaline suddenly left his body; he couldn't remember any time in his life that he'd felt this, not even the events just the night before were so infuriating.

Cassandra and Sophitia immediately rushed forward and helped him to his feet, hoisting him up under his arms. They followed to the inn that Lucius had run to; it would indeed be some time before Rothion would recover from wearing himself down as he did, and they knew it.

SsSsSsSsSsSs

It is only a couple of days after these events that our story continues from. Not even a day after the thwarted robbery, Siegfried had seen the edge of Metz, and thanked the farmer for his most kind service, giving him even more for the horse. The farmer said it was nothing; after all, he was the one who owed Siegfried for getting rid of the highwaymen.

In spite of the fact that the horse was more than able to continue onward, Siegfried decided to wait until for another night before heading out. After all, Paris was still a good ways away, and preparing oneself was the most important thing to remember whenever venturing beyond the city limits. Holding his horse by the reins and leading him through the streets, Siegfried walked among the dirty, dusty streets, and began to hope for the rain; it would have made it easy to breathe, and at least the moisture would be bearable…

Heading to a nearby tavern, Siegfried tied up his horse and walked inside to get himself a bite to eat, as well as something light to drink. He needed to keep his awareness, and so he decided that alcohol would most certainly not be a good friend right now. Stepping inside, he nearly gagged on the smoke that assaulted his nostrils, burning and sizzling. His cloak was still draped over his armor, if only partly, although one would be able to hear it as he stepped. Walking into the room, they all went silent; a place as rough as this was not for anyone of any sort of nobility to set foot, even of the poorest kind. What would a knight wearing mail befitting a paladin have to do in such a location? As the eyes of the other customers follow him suspiciously, Siegfried ignores them and sits in a lonesome spot at the bar. "_Bonjour, monsieur_," the waiter greets him, wary pupils tracing over the scar on Siegfried's eye and thinking of anything that it could mean. "What would you like?"

"I believe I vill have a slice of beef vit' gravy, and qvite bloody as vell."

"Anys'ing to drink, _monsieur_?"

After a second of thought, Siegfried answered, "Just a glass of cider vill do. I must keep my vits about me…"

After paying up, Siegfried gave a look about the place. They were still unusually quiet, but after finding that he meant no trouble to be caused by his presence, some of them had returned to their business, although he still got the occasional glance. His cider was brought to him immediately, and had very little foam taking up the glass, soon followed by the steak, just as he had ordered, two very sharp knives as his eating utensils. It was all perfectly done; Siegfried gave a sigh. He knew exactly what they were doing. Raising his brow, the waiter asked, "Iz zere somes'ing wrong, _monsieur_?"

"_Nein_… I can tell vat you vant, dough. Don't vorry, I vill be out soon; I did not s'ink d'at I vould disturb se peace…"

Cutting off an obscenely large chunk of the warm, dripping flesh from his order, Siegfried began to stuff his face with the gravy-slathered meat. He chewed it thoroughly, though quickly, and it was somewhat noisy. Within about six bites, it was gone, and he gulped down his tall glass of cider with just as much gusto. As soon as he was finished, he flipped a small coin to the waiter, who caught it with a look of surprise. "I admire se quality of food, but perhaps you should vork on your social skills… people are not alvays as you s'ink…"

He quickly stepped from the tavern, wiping his upper lip clean of froth with the collar of his cloak. He spoke not a word as he untied the horse, looking to find oats in the market for him to munch on while they were to venture to Paris. Nobleman? He may have wielded Soul Calibur, but the good he did with that holy sword, in his opinion, was nothing in comparison to the evils he'd inflicted upon people, the land, and history itself with the demonic blade. Hardly noble, were one to ask him. He still had a debt to the world to pay, and since it seemed every force that he came into contact with had dictated that his time had not yet come, Siegfried dedicated himself to paying it.

"_Cinq pour les six livres!_ (Five for six livres!)

"_… absolument scandaleaux!_" (… absolutely outrageous!)

"_Je vais le prendre_." (I'll take it.)

These were among the many phrases Siegfried heard as he walked through the marketplace, scouring the area for those who were selling grain. It was not long after the German knight had left the drinking place and eatery that he'd managed to find the place; the farmer that he'd met was there, although he paid him little mind. A small wave and a grim smile as he passed, and the two of them went about their own ways. Finding the food was not that difficult; it was not after more than a few streets that he had happened upon a stand that sold several kinds of grain, oats included; he would have smiled, were it normally in him to do so. He pointed to a large sack with a raised brow, silently asking an obvious question, about twenty pounds of the seed; it would last long enough to reach Raphael, and he undoubtedly had his own stables.

Ah, Raphael. Though it had been some time since they last met, when they had parted, it had been on good terms. Siegfried considered it safe to assume that Raphael still was a man of a friendly disposition- however, one does not forget, Siegfried still had destroyed Soul Edge in its entirety, defeated him many a time, and shattered Soul Calibur. The possibility of a lingering enmity over the past still hung about, although the likelihood was not too high. He only hoped for the best.

Paying for the horse's food, Siegfried parted with a nod, hefting the burlap container himself with no real difficulty, except getting his horse to stop trying to eat it from his arms as he put it over the animal's back. A sigh, and he told him, "You vill alvays put your stomach before anys'ing else, _ja_?" to which the horse gave a snort and a nod, or at least it seemed. There was a sparkle of intelligence that one would be able to see on the beast's eye, clear as day, which showed he knew more than he let on to.

Now all that he had left was to find a place to stay for the night, and once they had rested, they would be leaving as soon as one could see the dew in the morning light. Again, dragging the somewhat bothersome horse by the reins, Siegfried began to search around the city for the nearest place he could find to sleep, thinking his few stray thoughts to himself.

"_You know, for once, you could try to not always be so bitter, Siegfried._"

Soul Calibur's voice resonated through his skull. It wasn't often that this happened multiple times in the same week. Mumbling softly enough to not be heard by the other civilians, he replied to the shard, "Ach… you know vat I've been s'rough, and _sat_ vould be depressing, even if you vere to atone yourself. And, for sem all to treat me like an odd creature vit' no place in society… bah!"

"_And yet, you still do them good. You still buy from them, you still tip them, you still save them from-_"

"_Genug_, _bitte*_…" Siegfried moaned quietly. "You vin, you vin… if it helps, I vill stop being so… _bitter_," he admitted in defeat, in a most contradictory tone to his promise to the shard. It was almost laughable, the irony of it all. "_If you plan on stopping, you ought to at least give it a try now._" (*Enough, please…)

"_Ja!_" Siegfried finally yelled out in utter annoyance. It was no wonder that Soul Edge and Soul Calibur were brother and sister to one another; they both shared the same persistent, nerve-wracking, willful attitudes, the main difference being that Soul Calibur lured its hosts with the power of goodness and well-being, purity and spirituality, rather than bald-faced lies and trickery, as the demonic blade did. Holding his forehead in his palm, Siegfried continued down the street, suddenly very relieved at the realization that the horse had not dragged him along the ground in the dust, upon his shout. People that lined the road began to stare at him in confusion, absolutely mystified that someone would have the indecency to begin roaring in German. And out in public, too! What nerve!

However, paying attention to the signs that hung above their heads kept Siegfried from meeting eyes with any of the citizens, as he was still attempting to look for the sign that gave away the identity of an elusive resting place. All of the buildings, where he was headed, were beginning to look the same, as they were smashed together in a constricting arrangement, leaving them little room to go but up.

It was not until Siegfried had asked for directions that he managed to find his way. Stopping next to a woman who looked to be some sort of servant, out running errands for her employer. He decided to keep his promise and he put on a very small, hardly noticeable curl of the lip that would qualify to him as a smile. Fake or not, at least he wasn't snapping or barking his words at anyone. He approached her, giving a courteous nod. "_Hallo_, madame. I am in need of an inn, do-

"_Je ne parle anglais, monsieur*,_" she interrupted, a somewhat confused look on her face. (*I do not speak English, sir.)

Siegfried gave a sigh. This was going to be harder than he thought; he only spoke very, _very _rough French, and that was what he'd learned from his travels and his occasional meeting with Raphael. Scrambling through his brain for words, Siegfried replied, "Aaah… _je suis… chercher… coucher endroit…_?*" His French was horrible, but the woman seemed to have gotten the idea.(*I am... looking… sleeping place…?)

Shaking her head with a smile, the woman pointed down the street he was already on, telling him simply, "_Cinq rue_."(Five streets.)

The wandering knight gave her a short bow, telling her with a slight amount of hesitation, "_Merci… beaucoup_?*" looking to her for a hint of whether he had said it right or not. She giggled slightly, and told him, "_Oui, monsieur, c'est ça.**_"(*Thank you… very much? **Yes, sir, that's correct.)

A real grin of his own came to his face, and Siegfried gave a slight laugh. He actually remembered how to talk for once, and they didn't have to speak English, either! His heart began to feel a bit warmer, and he marched down the street, horse in tow- who was still plotting to get to those oats…

The woman sighed, staring at him as he walked to the inn; by then, its sign was clearly visible to him. When was the last time anyone among the leagues of noblemen, even if they were foreign, would say anything to _her_, a mere servant? She was surprised that he hadn't gone and perhaps taken her away, or stricken her down for having the nerve to laugh in his presence, and yet, he carried on, apparently feeling better about himself at being able to say something right. Maybe not everyone above her in that wretched hierarchy was so bad after all.

Siegfried walked into the inn, after the stable boy took his horse, and he paid a couple livres for a room. It may have been in the afternoon by then, but the pair of them would be leaving as soon as they got up, and he preferred to be up and ready early in the morning. Opening the door to his room, he shut it before dropping the cloak to the ground, setting aside Requiem, and undoing all of his plate mail; the metal was so stuffy, and after taking it off, he felt the cool air rush over his body. The form-fitting tunic was not drenched in sweat, as he'd expected, although it still felt slightly moist. He would have to change as soon as he got to Raphael's...

He cared little at the time, however, as he kicked off his boots, put his gauntlets on the nightstand, and flopped onto the bed. He was asleep almost instantly, something that he hadn't achieved for some time.

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(A/N: I'm in need of apology for a couple things. One, first off, is being so late. Two, I might have messed up the French a bit in here; would someone please point it out if they can? And three… I know Tira is crazy, but it's a bitch to write her. She's the main reason for my lateness, and also if you've noticed a bit of a decline in how well my story reads, then you know where it starts. Hope you enjoy, and please, R&R!)


	5. Chapter 5

(A/N: **WARNINGS**-

This one's going to be all Sieg/Raph/Amy/Tira. There may be a few bouts of violence as well.)

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Siegfried, Raphael and Amy were seated in a magnificent dining hall, the table far too large for just the three of them to share their own little meal. For that, Raphael sat at the head, Amy to his right, Siegfried to his left. Siegfried found the arrangement somewhat odd, but he otherwise paid no mind; he'd been able to take a bath and brush his hair, which helped him immensely. Along with getting a change of clothes, a touch of cologne had eliminated the smell of horse while his tunic was washed.

Serving their meal, a cut of roast beef with a few herbs decorating the top and the broth, such as garlic, rosemary, and black peppercorns, roughly ground into sharp pieces, Raphael asked Siegfried, "So, what are your t'oughts on ze estate, Siegfried?"

As he held a plate to catch the dripping hunk of flesh, the knight answered, "I find it beautiful, very extravagant, als'ough, it seems too lonely. Even vit' se servants about se place, d'ere is too much… emptiness."

Raphael nodded as he put a piece of meat on Amy's plate. "_Oui_, I 'ad much ze same problem wit' my parents' 'ouse in Rouen. Even wit' guests, zere was too much space." A smile came to his face, however, as he began to think back, "But, zere were many 'iding places as a child, and

some even 'elped me escape ze _manoir_ when zey chased me out."

"I have never had to hide out of cowardice. S'ere vere battles I led se _Schwarzwind_ t'rough, ven ve ambushed our enemies, and ven I tried to keep Soul Edge avay from se rest of de vorld, I secluded myself, for fear of ossers suffering as I did, and vatching as… as…"

Memories of being Nightmare flooded into his mind, the few times the demon got sick entertainment out of letting him see as he slaughtered village after village. Looking down at his slice of the roasted beef, still pink in the middle, Siegfried was suddenly reminded of the shredded flesh that would remain of Nightmare's victims, making him lose his appetite in general. "I believe… I vill need some alcohol to let me get in se mood for eating again…" he sighed. Raphael took his glass and poured some of the burgundy wine that he had brought to the table, which Siegfried downed in a few swallows, although he made no mess of it.

Amy, who merely sat and watched, hardly touching her own food, was beginning to get worried. Siegfried seemed to be almost as emotionally unstable as Tira, but the only feelings he delved into were either indifference or depression and despair. The only gaiety she'd seen out of him was when he had first walked in and met up with Raphael, and that was short-lived; it was not long before he was gone, taking a bath, and he did not appear again for another two hours, after which he had been in his normal, nothing-bad-is-happening-but-neither-is-anything-particularly-good mood.

And now, to see him overcome with a wave of sadness that seemed to emanate from his very soul, it was hard to tell whether he was depressing her out of the mere aura, or whether it was just pity. She had no desire to feel such a way, either- he was the man who had gotten in

the way of her dear _peré_, and stopped him not by convincing him to go home, but by striking him down with a rather large blade, twice with Raphael's own goal.

How _annoying_, to find one who could disturb what peace she managed to clamor for and hold in her own soul. She had lived through a decade of loneliness in poverty, and then another four, almost, of the same thing, except in the class of the wealthy. Finally, her _peré_ had decided to stay, and she wanted to keep it that way- and, just the same, this Siegfried man shows up just as he was about to achieve his goal. If he were here to simply spite her _peré_… she would make sure that he would never be able to do so again. Ever.

As Siegfried and Raphael finished their own meals, Amy finally started on hers, cutting at it slowly with two knives, using the smaller one to pin it down to the plate. The thoughts she had held about Siegfried Amy had held slightly waned as her mind turned to think about her only friend. It was about the right time for her to show up that night, now that she thought about it. Hmmm… her heart began to warm up slightly as Tira's flamboyant dress and eccentric activities appeared in her mind, the shrill laughter sounding much more bearable in her head than her ears. She began to hope for something particularly pleasant this visit, such as some of Tira's makeup, or perhaps a dress her size. However, considering what she knew about the madwoman, she knew not what exactly she would bring this time, if anything more than her friendship.

A flutter went through her stomach as Amy conceived the word. _Friendship_.

A sudden laugh from Raphael shocked her from her chain of thought, making her shake her head and look in his direction. He was resting his head on his palm, his elbow propped up on the table, and he asked, "So…" his mouth twisted into a vulpine smirk, "… what iz on your mind, Amy? It seems to be somes'ing quite entairtaining, I would see your smile from ze hilltop."

She then realized that she actually had been grinning, and just how broad the smile was as she felt the soreness of her cheeks. It fell immediately, her face quickly going redder than the makeup she wore. Siegfried's eyes were met, if only for a moment; the idea that they would be any more comforting than her father's was soon quashed, as his raised brow merely added a certain painful quality to the iciness of the blue that contacted her red. Amy realized she would get no help from either of them, although she could not blame Siegfried for that; he had no

idea what she had entwined herself with.

"It iz… of ze _créature_ again. Only it iz in my dreams, alt'ough it does not'ing to me except giggle like an _enfant_. I would razzer it laugh like a madwoman zen do somet'ing so childish."

Raphael cocked his brow at her with an expression of curiosity. "You know ze _créature_ as a _femme_?" he inquired.

Amy gasped, her eyes widening. She had said far too much. "...May I please be excused, _peré_? I am not hungry anymore."

"Only if our guest does not mind. Siegfried?"

Siegfried waved his hand and shook his head. Raphael nodded to Amy, who then sat up from her chair quite slowly, and made her way out of the dining hall steadily. However, as soon as she was out of sight, she bolted through the halls to her bedroom.

Raphael looked to Siegfried with concern. "She haz been seeing zis… _créature_ for some time now, and I begin to wondair about her, whezzair it iz a figment of her imagination, or somes'ing zat iz dangerously real."

Siegfried's own gaze was also filled with worry as to what was going on with the girl. "Perhaps you could give me an idea of vat d'is _Ungeheuer_* looks like…" he suggested. (*monster)

As Amy reached the door to her room, she began to think about what Raphael would do now. Would he suspect anything? Had he already been distrusting of her claims? Oh dear…

As she opened the door, she whirled inside, shut it quickly, and flopped onto her bed. Rolling onto her back, she began to sniffle, trying to hold back tears; she wished that she would have to keep no secrets, that everything she loved was accepted. But were anyone to even see Tira, just the eccentric visage would be enough to set off a million alarms in one's head, telling them that something about her was drastically _wrong_ and that she should be avoided at all costs.

However, Amy could do nothing but the exact opposite. Tira was all that she knew of as a friend, and therefore, was her most precious treasure, one of the only things she would not give up. Even if her _peré_ were to deny her the right to see her friend… she would disobey, she would run away, she would outright rebel, if that was what it took.

She bit her lip, feeling it swell as she continued to beat down the continually rising urge to burst into a waterfall of tears. A groan escaped her throat, clearly laced with sadness. Curling up, she couldn't take it anymore, the frog in her throat hurting too much for her to bear it, and the girl began to weep silently, her sadness leaking from her soul at a steady pace.

"Awww, what's wrong? Something's got you feeling terrible, and it's doing the same to me…"

Gasping so hard as to nearly choke herself, Amy shot into an upright position at the familiarity of that voice. Slinking from the closet came none other than Tira, although she was in a different costume than before, yet it was still just as flamboyant as the last. Resembling a

harlequin wearing jade green and a faded black with the occasional splash of light orchid and miniature, decorative skulls hanging from ribbons, her pigtails were pulled tight into the headpiece. "Tira! _Grâce â Dieu vous elle rentrer!_*" Amy cried in joy as her eyes lit up upon seeing her companion. (*Thank God you have returned!)

Tira giggled madly as she approached the bed. "Of course I returned, silly! You didn't think I'd break a promise, would you?"

Amy faltered for a split second. Of course she hadn't suspected that! Well, not outright; there had been the sneaking suspicion that perhaps something would prevent Tira from visiting, but such thoughts had always been far back in the recesses of her mind, never making themselves known in more than a whisper, and even then they had been shortcoming. Shaking her head, Amy smiled at Tira again, leaping from her mattress and holding her in a warm embrace. "_No_, _mon ami chéri_,* I, of all people, would _never_ think such a thing." (*No, my dear friend, …)

As she tightly returned the hug, Tira whispered, "I missed you so much… it was only a few days, but they were days in _Hell_, seriously…"

Hell? Truly, Amy didn't think that she mattered that much to anyone, except perhaps Raphael. She thought that he cared about her too much, far too much for his own good. To know that another felt the same way was awfully flattering, but also fairly confusing. It made her look into herself try and see what exactly it was about her that made her so likable to the others. Perhaps it was simply a mere after effect of Soul Edge's influence- it drew souls closer, giving a better choice of potential victims. If that was Tira's motivation for being so close, Amy would have been disgusted, but she knew that it couldn't be, it just couldn't! Why else would she have been so kind, so caring, so… _sisterly_?

Amy pushed away the thoughts hurriedly as she felt Tira let go of their embrace. The flamboyant one's grin stretched into something rather Cheshire as she twirled back to the closet. "Hey, Amy," she cooed, "You'll never guess what I brought for you tonight."

Ooh, a gift! Amy began to try and look around Tira from her bedside to see what it was, only to be disappointed with nothing but Tira's firm stomach. "Ah ah ah, no peeking!" instructed the orchid eyed girl.

Reaching behind her, Tira said with a more ready-to-please expression on her face, "It's a little something that I made for you, all by myself. I had to steal the right pieces for it, though." Whipping out what looked like a flash of color from her back, in Tira's hands was a short-sleeved tunic, a dark ebony base with a darker-than-blood scarlet decorating the trim. A slit went along the length of the piece, up to where the hips would fit. The front was tied just over the breast by two crossing strings, a 'V' with a short collar. Shadowy, wispy feathers decorated the bottom, their color looking like something of a black cherry that had been lightened in the sun. Her eyes glittering in utter joy, she smiled open-mouthed at Tira as she said, "T… Tira! How did you make zis? It looks as d'ough it would fit me pairfectly!" a light giggle escaping her throat.

"I already told you, I stole the bits and I sewed it together. Although, it was pretty hard to get things like the size of your waist down. I kinda had to guess on that. Hope you don't mind wearing a belt," Tira answered, glad that Amy liked the gift. Diving back into the closet, she dug a little bit through the clothes, pulling out a somewhat thin, black leather belt with a small, tarnished silver buckle.

Taking the belt from her at a slight loss of grace, Amy asked her friend, "How do I put it on? _Aider moi s'il vous plait_*," as she began to take off her dress top. (*Help me please)

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"S'is does not sound good at all, Raphael," Siegfried advised with a deep expression of thought. "De monster you described sounds to be much more human s'an monstrous. I believe ve should be checking on Amy right now, and at least see v'at she does in her alone time."

Nodding solemnly, Raphael led Siegfried from the dining hall to Amy's room. Interrupting the occasional thought inside of his head as he strode through the halls, words that were not his own invaded sharply, "_Siegfried, I sense a presence that you may be familiar with. It does not seem hostile at the moment, but the influence of the demon sword may cause it to attack you._"

Soul Calibur's voice carried through his head, the words spanning from the guest quarters, finishing just as they had approached the door. As Raphael reached out for the knob, Siegfried harshly whispered, "_Nein_, let me do it. S'ere is somesing d'at could be dangerous," stepping in place of the worried foster father. Although mildly insulted by Siegfried's wording, Raphael complied, as the imposing German had already begun to make his way forward. Cracking the door open ever so quietly, Siegfried was barely able to restrain himself, and was very glad that he did not allow Raphael first.

Adorned in her gift from Tira, Amy was dancing softly over the thick rug on the middle of the floor, holding hands with none other than the psychopath herself. Dancing with another of the same gender was not wrong to anyone at the time- after all, one could be simply teaching them how to waltz. But, exactly _whom_ you did with was what mattered in the situation at hand. Managing to not burst through the door, Siegfried stepped inside with a most dark glare over his face, his soul-piercing eyes aimed for Tira's own, no need for a blow to the stomach to make the wind be knocked from her lungs. Raphael followed his guest inside; fire danced inside his own expression, which changed from worried to murderous as he witnessed who Amy's playmate was. The two men's foreboding presence, even though they too were weaponless, made Tira cower in fear, as Siegfried looked strong enough to rip her limb from limb(and most likely was, as she had noticed from the fights she'd had with him, swinging that sword around), and Raphael's fangs were bared and seemed ready to be sunk into the soft flesh of her neck. The last thing she would want is to be sucked dry and left as some sort of husk!

She readied herself to make a leap for the window, but just as soon as she lifted a foot, Raphael darted forward and kicked her other leg out from under her, making the assassin fall to the floor. "_Où pensez-vous que vous allez? _*" he spat at her in his home tongue, the venom mere icing over the toxic sounds that escaped his throat. (*Where do you think you are going?)

The pair crossed each other in the room, Siegfried taking duties over Tira while Raphael tended to Amy, who was disturbed by the interruption to her moment of bliss. Tears welled up as her father knelt beside her, an arm cast about her shoulder to help comfort her from being around this… this… _demon_! The anger still boiled inside, and it was only through the fact that he was with his beloved Amy that he didn't unleash his entire wrath upon the young woman. Siegfried's steps towards her, however… one could hear just how cold his heart was towards her just through the sound of his steps. Neither Amy nor herself could bear to look at the man, so many ideas of what he was about to do to her swimming through their heads. Hefting the downed girl to her feet by the elbows, he hugged her close to nullify the attempt to thrash out of the knight's grip. "V'at are you doing here?" he hissed in her ear, distaste and hate lacing each syllable. "You haff none here who vould vant you to serve d'em, and all you do oddervise is pollute vit' de taint of Soul Edge, or simply kill! V'at vere your plans for Amy, _Unmensch*_?" (*monster[inhuman])

Tira's heart skipped as Siegfried began to wring her of information, if in a fairly barbaric way. She honestly had not planned anything with Amy, except to keep up what she had been doing, and to eventually present herself to Raphael as a friend. But, it seemed that their guest had found her out before then, most likely. What was she to-

"_We were going to take her away!_" Tira snickered, her face twisting into a perverse sneer. "_Far, far away, where nothing but the Watchers and the wolves would find her body, and absolutely _nothing _would hear her scream as we-_"

Siegfried's hold faltered only slightly as Tira's demeanor changed abruptly, although he managed to recover quickly. Gloom was interrupted, thank the spirits, and began to fight with one of the many other representative alternate personalities, this one being Horror. "_please, let me go, i swear that i'll be good, and i won't ever come back again…_" she whimpered, her voice quivering in utter fear.

"_You lie!_" Gloom snapped back, jerking her head to the left. "_I'll make you lie, eat those words right up!_"

Getting fed up with her erratic bipolar symptoms, Siegfried held Tira by the shoulders and threw her to meet the ground again. Dropping down himself, he clamped his knees about her hips and wrapped his palms over her fists, cracking her knuckles in the tightness of just how hard he clenched them. "_Stille!_" shouted he, "_Nein_, you vill go novhere! V'at vas I t'inkink, lettink you live frahm se Tower? I should haff destroyed you d'en!" The anger was starting to affect him even more, as the German accent that had faded out somewhat before was beginning to flare up in all it's former glory as his fury disgraced his tongue. "Raphael, my room is nearby. You must brink me a certain pouch, and you v'ill know v'ich I speak off- se discahmfort is a giveavay. Leave Amy d'ere," he ordered.

Although Raphael had an inkling of an idea what was in the pouch, it was the last thing that he wanted to expose Amy to, and he gladly accepted to keeping her from it. Until he deemed the both of them ready, Raphael was not about to let Siegfried do anything to the either of them with that ice. Sweeping Amy from the ground, he dashed from the room, his redheaded daughter giving a cry of despair for her only friend, the one that she knew was not going to make it.

Although the carpet that had been laid over the marble floors was beginning to wear thin, Raphael still managed to hold a fine grip while running, even in dress shoes. Coming to a smooth stop in front of Siegfried's room, he opened the door and fluidly slipped inside, Amy in his arms. He set her down on the bed, and snatched Siegfried's belt from the bedside table, to which the knight had attached all of his purses. With it in hand, he just as swiftly left the room as he'd entered it, drawing a small, bronze key from his pocket and locking it behind him. "_Ma fille, c'est dans ton propre intérêt,_" he said to the door in apology, praying that she would understand. Grasping the steel and silver buckle tightly, he felt his entire right arm tingle as though a million hot needles had just made contact with his tender, pallid skin. Yes, he'd found it.

As Raphael stepped back into Amy's room, the sight of the assassin merely cast buckets of kerosene to the bonfire that was the bundle of emotions charring in his soul. He gritted his teeth, baring those fang-like canines to the pair. Siegfried had only let go of one of Tira's hands briefly so he would be able to hold both of her wrists to the ground with one widespread palm, but it was all she needed to retaliate: a lightning fast jab to the face, although all it seemed to do was make Siegfried angrier as his face, where it reddened under her gauntleted knuckles, began to twist in abhorrence. With his free hand, three times he struck her face, twice with the palm, and once with the back. Tira could feel the marble blend of blood and saliva dribble down her chin, and as she was still reeling from the blows, Siegfried accomplished his goal of holding down her stray limb.

His free hand outstretched, Siegfried ripped a small burlap pouch from it, using his fingertips to slip the cloth from a length of crystal that shone with an unnatural brilliance, nearly blinding both Raphael and Tira. "_Are you even aware of what you are doing, Siegfrieee…_" Soul Calibur attempted to warn, but it fell upon deaf ears as he began to draw power from the shard and channel it into the loony woman underneath him.

Now, even though Tira held no more loyalties to Soul Edge, her spirit had been tainted by the sword's influence, casting a black scar over her heart and soul. The holy energies from the remainder of the spirit sword began to eat away at that stain, dissolving it, breaking it down, erasing it. Writhing in pain, Tira was able to do nothing but scream, her muscles cramping and twitching. All Raphael could do was cover his eyes and wonder at how his daughter happened to come across such a terrible person, let alone make friends with… it. Was it that she had no real idea just what a bad person was, or was it the remaining influence of the demonic blade that still resided within their souls that swayed her to forge a relationship with the assassin? Raphael's instincts of who to simply avoid would have gone absolutely berserk at the sight of her, were this to be even his first sight of Tira. What had drawn the two together? Perhaps it was merely the simple lack of companionship. Amy had no friends; her only accompaniment was the service, who were fairly dull and busy, and himself, who may have shown liveliness, but also was occupied most of the time.

Admitting it to himself struck his heart like a ton of bricks. He was to give her up, let Amy, his precious daughter, go and be with another. Sighting the one that Amy may have ended up falling in love with, Raphael pondered what it would mean to Amy, with how badly they treated Tira, the guilt of hurting the red-haired girl's feelings nagging at the back of his mind as it always did.

"Hold, Siegfried."

"V'at?"

"I said _hold_!"

Siegfried's palm, held over Tira's chest and glowing electric blue, was covered by his fingers, Soul Calibur having shot back into his hand from the insane woman's breast. The German still held her pinned to the ground, although, twisting on his hips, he demanded, "V'at is de meaning of s'is? First, you hate de voman for invading your home, und now you show mercy? Make up your mind! D'ere is somesing wrong vit'choo," the strength of his accent still there, but not as prominent.

"_Oui_, somes'ing is very wrong wit' me..."

Tira's panting began to slow down, although her eyes were still closed in pain.

AaAaAaAaAaAa

They were in her room.

With her friend.

Doing only God knows what to her.

What was Amy to do in a situation such as that? There was really nothing that she could think of immediately, but she knew that something had to come fast. Flopping herself on Siegfried's bed, Amy began to consider her options. She could use a hairpin to try and pick the lock… no, _peré_ had changed the locks, it would take far too long. What could she use to break out-

Exactly! That was precisely what she would do, _break_ from the room! Looking around for something large enough, Amy's eyes settled on Requiem. The blade was immense, and obviously would be heavy to the state of ridiculousness, throwing her off balance by a long shot. But, if she were to strike most anything with it properly, even a small girl such as herself, what with her pitiful strength, could make use of the tremendous weight of the thing and smash nearly any wooden object to pieces. Surely something as puny as the door wouldn't hold to the might

of the zweihander.

Amy grasped the sword by its thick hilt, her frail hands not even able to touch her thumb and middle finger together. It was too heavy for her too just lift outright and hold in mid-air, so she let it rest on her shoulder, the mere weight of it causing the teenage girl such pain and discomfort that she had to bite her lip to keep herself from moaning from the cramping. However, she was unable to remain silent as she twirled in a circular advancement, stepping towards the door with each spinning attack; the door was struck, the wood splintering into a million

insignificant pieces, but as Amy tried to stop moving, the massive weapon carried her onward, slinging her floorbound. A yelp of displeasure escaped her throat just before all breath was dismissed from her chest, making the youth gasp for her missing air.

Slowly clambering to her feet, Amy gave her lungs the orders to suck in as much air as they could, and they did just that. Following through, it was only about five seconds later that she was able to advance down the hall again, which she did at an alarming pace, eager to aid her friend who was in dire need, leaving Requiem behind.

As she skidded to a halt in front of the doorway that led to her room, Amy threw open the door to find Siegfried having pinned Tira to the ground, a red mark on his cheek from Tira's blow, and Raphael looking as though he'd had a disturbing epiphany. Tira continued to breathe heavily, her chest's movement impaired by the man holding her down. Amy pushed the Frenchman out of her way and knelt beside Siegfried and Tira, feeling as though she was about to be sick all over the floor. "Let… let her go…" she croaked, hardly able to let the words fall from her trembling lips.

Whipping his head in the direction of the girl, Siegfried lashed out against the weak protest with, "You expect me to just let her go? Do you fink I am insane? She vill _kill_ you, Amy. No matter v'at she tells you, d'ere is a darkness inside her d'at vill gives her de urge to slay, to torture, to murder. Can you even comprehend d'is?"

A hiccup came from Amy's throat as she tried to hold back the utter sobbing that threatened to burst from her face. In spite of this, she still managed to sputter, "I… compre'end z'at… you are 'urting my _ame_!"

"_Ame_? _Ame_! She is not wort'y of calling your _ame_! She would murder ozzers simply out of a morbid addiction!" Raphael threw in, hoping to convince Amy out of following her obviously confused heart. Having friends was one thing, after all; having friends that kill because the voices

tell them to and smile because they haven't found the bodies is _quite_ another. He thought, perhaps, if she was to have another in her personal life as a friend, then he would be able to find someone with more _suitable_ tastes in things such as entertainment.

At being slapped in the face with those words, Amy burst into tears, her heart unable to take the pressure of them building up, and she finally let them pour from her eyes. She said nothing in retort; it wasn't that she had nothing, she simply knew that it was pointless. One little girl and another who was mostly insane and pinned to the ground, versus two strong-hearted, stubborn, bull-headed men? There was no chance.

Having made his decision, Raphael finally recomposed himself with a slight shudder. His face twisted partly into a scowl as he ordered, "Rise, Siegfried." A brow raised in question, Siegfried did as he was told, regardless, as he could sense that there was something different about his companion at the moment. The heated glare of the Frenchman went to Tira, who had just gained enough strength to make it to her hands and knees, looking like an abused slave in front of an angry master, which wouldn't be an assumption too far from the mark. The only difference was that this was her friend's father, not some malignant overseer.

"Siegfried 'as already shown you 'is sweet maircy once before, and 'as long lost it in your presence, worm. And now, as my friend is devoid of sympat'y to scum like you, I will give you your last chance."

What? Although she was still recovering from the pain of being halfway purified, Tira had to wonder if she had indeed heard the man correctly. She looked up at him from her humiliating position, beads of sweat shining on her forehead. "I… I know z'at you and Amy are close," Raphael relented, his eyes closing as his heart began to feel as though Nightmare had gripped it in his scaled, thorny fist, "and I would not wish for my only loved one to be 'eartbroken forevair, living in ze fear z'at I would kill anyone who comes near. And so, wit' Amy's peace of mind at 'eart, I bid you farewell."

Tira stood, however shakily, looking about them all confusedly. His face now solemn, having gone through a myriad of expressions throughout the evening, Raphael told her, "Come, we will lead you from ze estate. Gazzer yourse'f, and be quick about it."

All four of them walked to the edge of Raphael's property, Amy in the lead, Raphael and Tira side by side, and Siegfried standing directly behind Tira, the shard still in his hand. He held the lengthy piece as though it were a short dagger; were she to even make the slightest move to try and escape, he would plunge it into her ribs and watch as the curses from her would be lifted, along with her life. Although Siegfried felt as if he was being cold-hearted, considering that this was, indeed, someone that his comrade's daughter shared a relationship with, he knew that she still held the taint of Soul Edge in her. Who knew what she would do?

Raphael gave a sigh. One look at Amy, even though she had her head turned toward the moon, and he knew that she was feeling as though a chunk of her heart had been torn asunder. To know that his interference, even if it was to keep her safe, had caused her pain, hurt the man even more than it did his daughter.

Amy could think of nothing but how lonely she would be, now that her only companion would be leaving. And knowing Raphael, he would probably kill her if she were to come back again. What could she, a fourteen-year old girl, do that would be of any help? She could possibly beat Raphael in a duel… she'd practiced with him so much, and even developed her own technique. He had even said himself that he had to put in honest effort to keep her from hurting him, although she still had yet to beat him. But, against Siegfried as well? There was no chance. Besides, she doubted that he would even let the two come near one another, should the miracle occur that she were to win. She would have to devise something else…

"'Ere we are," Raphael announced, having reached the iron-barred gate that lead to the road. He looked at Tira with an unreadable mask of an expression, instructing her, "Now, you will step out to ze road, and from z'ere, you will say your goodbyes. Understand?" Tira obeyed wordlessly, until she reached the main pathway. Turning to face Amy in a proud stance, she blew a friendly kiss, calling out with, "_Adieu_, _ame _Amy," in a mocking- or just plain terrible- French accent before bolting down the dirt path. Amy's eyes began to water again, at which point Raphael immediately came to the girl's rescue, wrapping an arm about her shoulders.

Staring on, his eyes looking quite tired, Siegfried made an attempt to make conversation with the remains of the spirit sword. "_I feel like v'at I did vas good, in de right, but… somesing still seems wrong about d'is, as d'ough I may haff started somesing terrible._"

"_Do not worry, Siegfried,_" the crystal replied, "_I sense nothing that cannot be recovered from. Time can heal it all. Now please, I-_"

"_But I haff never seen Amy so sad. Perhaps d'ere vas more in her heart s'an she lets on, and she misses Tira badly enough to take drastic measures,_" interrupted Siegfried.

"_Yes, perhaps. But she is no little child any longer; her soul is strong enough to bear the pain. Please-_"

"_But-_"

"_You are starting to sound like Raphael, Siegfried._"

At that, Siegfried silenced his mental conversation with Soul Calibur , knowing that, were he to continue agitating it, it would most likely do something to him quite awful. Something like make his feet and hands and face get covered in frost each morning for the next week. Just the mere thought of it made him shiver as though he was covered in icy dew already.

TtTtTtTtTtTt

Tira ran. She ran as fast as she could, dashing for the city lights of Paris, never stopping, not even when she felt her throat become as dry as the Silk Road and her lungs burn like the rich Spaniard's mansion.

That she actually hadn't set aflame, now that she thought back to it. The man had escaped, but her main goal at the time had been to find Siegfried and kill him, along with anyone else who'd been a threat to Nightmare at the time. A shudder ran down her tender spine at the thought of the name of her former master, a grotesque wad of twisted, scaly flesh balled into a cursed suit of bluish purple armor. She remembered the one time that it had actually touched her… the claw, rested on her shoulder at first, and the thumb was so large it merely had to use the slightest of efforts to stroke her face with it, not even moving the rest of its hand. The shadow of the memory when she was touched by it was enough to make her knees buckle from just how eerie the sensation was, making her nearly fall on her face as she continued down the hill and towards city limits.

As she recovered from the stumble, Tira slowed to a jog, then to a brisk walk as she neared the city gates. Standing there were two large men, wearing a light suit and armed with halberds over their shoulders and pistols at their hips. She looked up at them with a mask of

playfulness, although one could see just how tired she was from running as she did. " _Pourquoi êtes-vous ici?_*" the one on her right asked, raising a brown at the strange clothing she wore. (*Why are you here?)

"_Je suis ici pour connaître seigneur Reno, bons messieurs._*" she answered bowing with her chest heaving somewhat, as she still had yet to recover from the running. (*I am here to entertain lord Reno, good sirs.)

"_Ah, Seigneur Reno! Il a une partie de ce soir._*" (*Ah, lord Reno! He has a party this evening.)

The other guard added, " _Et j'ai entendu que ça va mal. Qu'elle en; ils en ont besoin._*" (*And I heard it's going badly. Let her in; they need it.)

The first guard drew a large key from his belt, and stuck it inside a lock that connected the ends to a particularly heavy chain, keeping the gate shut. However, as he undid the lock, the guard detached the links, unraveling them from the iron bar and the gate, letting it swing wide open, as though the city itself had opened its arms to her. "_Bienvenue a Paris,_*" he said as he let her in. (*Welcome to Paris.)

Skipping inside merrily, having caught her breath, Tira waved to the two men as she continued inside to the French city. Her jauntily shoed feet scraping along the ground, a rather dark voice grumbled inside her head, '_You know, that Siegfried fellow… he seemed a bit more distant than the last time we met._'

A cheery, lively, almost puerile voice answered inside with, 'Yeah, it was like it wasn't quite him last time, 'cause Soul Calibur had his head, mostly. Now, since it's so weak, he's nothing like the guy that we knew. Kinda weird, I'd say.'

Following it was the timid, fearful, vibrating murmur that was heard when part of her was considering surrender to the two men back at the mansion. '_i wouldn't know, really. whatever he did back there hurt too much for me to pay much attention,_' the voice trembling like a child left in the snow.

"Well, it's not like it matters much," Tira whispered softly to herself, still twirling through the streets and upholding the façade of a harlequin. "We're away from those two, and if I know us anymore, I'm sure we'll find a way to meet Amy without getting caught… _again_…" sighing at the last of her words.

RrRrRrRrRrRr

Raphael and Siegfried helped lead a very tired girl to her bedroom, considering that she was too heartbroken at the time to even hold herself up properly. Propping her up by holding her arm around his waist, allowing her to lean on him, Raphael continued to whisper loving, comforting words to her in French, only a smattering of them understood by Siegfried, who remained silent. He had tried to help her up as well, reaching for her hand, but she had pulled away, as if he was infected by some new strain of smallpox. As well, he couldn't blame her for it. After all, he'd just driven off the only person she knew as a friend.

As they reached her room, Siegfried hadn't walked into the room with them to usher her to sleep, hadn't told her goodnight in as many ways as he could, and he didn't help tuck her into her sheets. No, Raphael, the one who actually had much to lose with this girl, he did it, as if helping her get to sleep would bring him back in favor with her. Although Siegfried had his doubts in this sort of logic, he did realize that smaller children had their bonds easily repaired, merely by treating them well again. But Amy was no child anymore, she was nearly of age to be married off to another lord, baron, or other form of worthy nobility. Although, even if King Henry IV himself were to offer his hand, Siegfried was sure Raphael would reject it outright for her, and, knowing the man, quite possibly with a great deal of violence. It was time to let her grow up, yes, but with an influence like Tira always at her side, it would have been disastrous.

Raphael stepped from the room, shutting the door behind him with the smallest of '_click_'s. "She is asleep," he informed, his words a near whisper, "and I believe z'at by morning come, we will be able to 'elp 'er wit' some of ze sadness. Per'aps, take 'er into Paris for a stroll, and get somes'ing special? I am sure z'at somes'ing will catch 'er eye, no?" he continued as they walked down the halls in silent footsteps.

Siegfried nodded. "De only problem vit' d'is d'at I can see is Tira. She ran to'ards de city, if I am not mistaken."

A wave of his hand, and Raphael brushed away any of the troubling thoughts of Tira's presence in Paris. "'Ave no worries, Siegfried. She would not dare challenge us wit' Amy present, let alone in ze middle of ze street. Tira is insane- oh _oui oui_, z'ere is no better word for it- but z'at simply is not 'er messod."

"_Ja_, I see v'ere you come from. Maybe… I should get some rest, for vunce. My body and head ache from de spirit sword, as de t'ing is not strong enough on its own anymore," Siegfried replied, giving a stretch that audibly began to pop various bones in his back. "Goodnight, Raphael," he said as he walked to his room, Raphael doing the same as they parted ways.

Siegfried gave a sigh as he looked at the utter mess that Amy had left with Requiem, having smashed the door to bits. "No, she is no child. Much too strong to be vun, at least," he said to himself as he stepped in, flopping onto his bed back first without even bothering to take off anything except his boots. He was asleep in seconds.

AaAaAaAaAaAa

As for Amy… she had been awaiting this moment for some time, as soon as she realized that they were only sending Tira away, ushering her to the road, she had watched exactly where the crazy one had galloped off to, following her with her eyeballs alone. As soon as she heard Raphael's footsteps pass by again, this time heading to his own room, she waited until they faded before actually getting up, her slumber having been nothing but an act.

She dug through her clothes, trying to think of what she should wear, when it popped into her mind. The tunic! It was dark, so it was good for concealment in the night, and it was of a very soft cloth, so the tightness it would obviously have would be of no worry.

The fact that she still had it on helped too. At least she didn't have to fish in the laundry for it. A black leather belt with a silver buckle went about her waist, where it was loose, although it was somewhat tight up top already. She slipped on and strung her black leather boots, their frills nearly reaching her knees, and her uniform was complete. Now all she had to do was throw on her dark, hooded cloak, snatch Albion from its rack, and slide into the darkness, unseen.

As she managed to reach the property line, Amy felt the moonlight through her clothes, her now down hair that had the occasional lock flow from it glitter in it, absorbing it like a plant's leaf does the glow of the sun. A little farther… and there it was, those iron bars that looked more like spears than anything else, barring her path. Although the gate was locked, she could think of other ways past it.

A tree, for instance. Climbing into it and crawling over a branch that hung past the spikes. She managed to hang from the edge, and judged how far the fall would be. It looked like a good four feet… bracing herself, she dropped to the well-used dirt path, landing in a crouch. Recovering from the shock of the fall quickly, Amy walked towards the city, as she had no need to run anymore. Down the hills she went, and in the distance the sparkle of Paris could be clearly seen.

AaAaAaAaAaAa

(A/N: Well, sorry for taking so long, but this chapter's even longer than the rest. I plan on doing something like this for Sophitia/Cassandra and Lizardman/Inquisition, but not quite yet. Those two will have to split the next chapter, and perhaps share it with another.

Wait, did I just say that out loud…?

Oh, and if you notice that I change how I write out my accents, please don't complain too much about it. I'm just trying to get the right 'sound' in for how their voices would sound. And, if any of you would know, correct my lingual errors. I don't want to look _too_ stupid.)


	6. Chapter 6

(A/N: This chapter will not be of the ongoings in the Sorel household, but of everyone else I'd failed to get. Also, I apologize in taking forever; moving tends to make me lose access to a computer/the interwebz for a while. That, and I was re-writing something that's been bugging the Hell out of me forever.)

LlLlLlLlLlLl

Speaking properly was something that this lizardman had failed to do for seven years; for four of them, the most he'd been able to do was communicate with whistles, grunts and clicks, throwing in the occasional growl, but to actually _speak_ had been far beyond his ability for some time now. This fact irritated him so badly it was as if someone had bent his scales backwards.

And for that, he would try to change this handicap. It was the morning after his and the young recruit's trip to the river that they had changed course. Having crossed through the valley in the mountains that the river presented, the troops had now headed north, into France, under these premises…

LlLlLlLlLlLl

Not long after Aeon had returned from the river, Father Romero had stood to make a presentation in front of the soldiers. "My blessed men," he called out to them, his voice still hard as always, yet having _something_ lining his tone to make him sound benign, "the leader of your troupe and your head inquisitor is telling us that we are near a _actividad de la espada demonio*_, or at least of something related. Through his sources he says that the most activity is in Paris." (*"…activity of the demon sword,")

Slamming a fist into his palm, Romero continued on with a fierce tone in his now fiery, motivating voice, "We have, not by the right of our nation, but by the right of the Lord himself to investigate and _destruir este repugnante mancha_*, wipe it from the face of the earth! Come, _compañeros_! Ready yourselves, for tomorrow, we march north!" (* "…destroy this loathsome stain,")

At that, Father Romero stepped down from the crate he stood on as a sort of pedestal to make himself be heard, and strode back to the wagon with the bishop, not saying another word. However, a sharp glance, daggers in place of his eyes, was shot at Aeon who merely stared blankly in return. He honestly wanted to wring the priest's neck, but he knew that would get him killed, or at least hunted down like an animal, and that was the last thing he wanted to happen to him at the moment.

LlLlLlLlLlLl

As Aeon trudged along with the other soldiers, his lengthy strides letting him keep up with the brisk pace set by the soldiers and commanding officers, he scanned the heads that all looked so much the same for one in particular, one that he could at least be bothered with, for he needed someone to tell him just how badly he would be doing when he would… _practice_.

It was not long before the younger one was finally spotted- actually, to be more precise, smelled. Over the time that Aeon had been weaving himself among the troops, he had grown intimately familiar with the various scents and odors that accompanied particular soldiers, or at least the soldiers that would group together, whether they were on the march or at camp. And Aeon's part-time comrade, being the loner that he was, held a unique smell about him from not having anyone to share with, one that could be pinpointed by those who were able to do such things.

Weaving through the lines without causing too much of a fuss, his surprising fluidity coming quite in handy, Aeon wormed his way to where he could catch a whiff of his friend, and caught sight of the young man in no time flat. Stepping to the younger man's side, Aeon growled slightly to grasp his attention from the quick gait being made over the land. The youth of a soldier looked up at the lizardman attentively, not saying anything, but showing quite plainly that he was being acknowledged. Aeon looked back, his normally stiff brow furrowing slightly, the rest of his snout screwing up as he worked though his heart to twist up the courage to say what was on his mind.

It was only after taking the deepest of breaths, puffing out his chest, and pointing at himself with his thumb that he managed to gurgle almost totally unintelligibly, "Arrn."

There was a most awkward moment of silence as not only the young soldier, but all of the nearby troops as well, fell into a stupor. One of them had even stopped in his tracks, causing a small pileup of men, although it soon was recovered before the officers were able to notice.

Blinking repeatedly, the young one asked in utter disbelief, unable to even consider the possibility of what he had just heard, "W… what did you say- no, what did you _do_, for I could not have just heard you speak, could I?"

Trying to think of the way to arrange his throat muscles to make the proper noise, Aeon found that speaking was going to be much more difficult than he thought. His new body was simply not made for it; it was almost as bad as trying to teach a dog to speak, although that had been seen before, supposedly. Settling on a much more familiar mouth arrangement, Aeon let his tongue just barely contact the roof of his mouth, letting out a sound that resembled something like, "Ess," just as he gave a curt nod.

The young man's eyes lit up, and he grinned widely. "Come, Aeon! We must tell the inquisitors of this great news- mmf!" he cried, but was interrupted by Aeon's clawed hands gripping him first around the wrists to pull him back, and then slapping an arm over the youth's chest and a palm over his mouth. In an instant, bardiche after bardiche, spearhead after spearhead, even bayonets were all pointing at Aeon; were he to make a single move that could be taken as hostile, he would be bristling with six-foot handles.

A small growl came from the very back of Aeon's throat- one that seemed pleading. One could even describe it to have had a sort of whimper to it, but that would be stretching it a bit far by the lizard's standards. Understanding what was meant, the captive one nodded. _None were to know_. Aeon let him free with a lightning-fast flick of his appendages, and the various weapons were raised from the lizardman's back. Backing off as he twisted around to face Aeon and caught his breath, as being held as he was made him at a loss for such, the young soldier put a hand on his head as he said, "Well… it seems we all have a secret to keep, eh? Can't have you doing that to me again." A glance was sent across the entire group, as if to form a mutual agreement that not a word of what had gone on at that moment would be spoken of, so the Lord Jesus Christ save your soul.

"_¡Date prisa!_*" the small lump of soldiers heard shouted at them. Looking in the direction of the voice, they saw an officer yelling at the top of his lungs. "_Vamos, hombre, antes de que el verdadero problema está aquí_,**" the youngster half whispered in advisory, his eyes widening for emphasis as he started his march again. Aeon followed immediately, the others right behind him. (* "Hurry up!" ** "Come along, men, before the real trouble is here,")

As he continued to walk on, Aeon thought back about what Romero had said the night before, having gotten a translation from his friend. If there was indeed activity related to Soul Edge in France, who would have been the one to be causing it? He had heard of a man that was French and spread darkness where he stepped, but had faced no such man. Besides, how would Romero or even Ambrosio manage to detect something that had to do with the sword? Were they sensitive to its influences, or did they have a shard of Soul Edge- or, even more outrageous, a shard of Soul Calibur? That would be quite a find, although where exactly the icy blade's crystalline pieces could have flown to was beyond his mind. Soul Edge was quite simple to find: search for madness, hysteria, and strife, and you will most likely have found either something influenced by the blade, or simply a part of town that has had a bad stroke of luck. But Soul Calibur… hmm… what _would _the signs of the spirit sword be?

Casting his eyes about the surrounding area, Aeon considered what could be telltale signs that there were shards of Soul Calibur about. The land had seemed to be practically untouched, all excepting the fairly broad path that the Inquisition followed. Perhaps… purity? Yes, that was an obvious one. Then, he looked farther into the flora, spying the fauna, and the richness of their living. Food was abundant for their gathering, seeds and leaves and insects ripe for the plucking from their stems. Ah, prosperity! That would be another sign. But, what could be another?

This time, Aeon's eyes were thrown over the men, looking at their lean, almost gaunt faces. It was not that they were being starved, or that they were sick, but that tiredness and fatigue had struck them. It had reared its ugly head and made them almost look as though they had gone much too far for their own good, and in Aeon's opinion, they had indeed. It was then that the idea struck him, coming like a flash, a vision of letters appearing in front of his eyes: HEALTH. Energy, to be more precise, but the people would be quite healthy indeed if the good aura of a Soul Calibur shard were to be about.

His mind still on the soldiers somewhat, Aeon's eyes trailed back to his _compañero_, as the others would call the two of them. He still had yet to know his name, and this bothered him. Stepping at the young man's side, he slapped him on the shoulder to yet again grasp his attention. His thumb again went to his chest, but instead of the low, somewhat loud growl that he had used previously, it was with a quiet, and much more accurate grumble that Aeon attempted to say his name, sounding like, "Arawn." He then pointed his index finger at the youth.

"My name?" he inquired, raising a brow after looking around them to make sure that none had heard him speak again. "I… I am Cesar. I am Cesar, my _amigo_," he answered, casting his arm over Aeon's shoulder, although he had to reach somewhat. They walked together without further event until nightfall.

AlAlAlAlAlAl

Meanwhile, in Greece that morning, Rothion had gathered his family to meet with his parents, a moment that half of them secretly dreaded. Sophitia and Cassandra for, in the eyes of the elders, being the cause of Rothion's wounds, and Lucius for fear of saying something rather stupid, just as he had before to his sisters. And, in a situation as touchy as the one they were walking right into, he felt it would be best for him to melt into a puddle, so he would have an excuse not to go.

As for Rothion and the children, they were nearly ecstatic. They had never met their grandparents on Papa's side, so this would be a most pleasing day for them. And when it came to Rothion, he was always asked of his most recent masterpiece, although he never admitted to anything surpassing the works of his wife's and her sister's weaponry. Maybe it was the fact that they were made of holy ore, or that they were used on quests to destroy Soul Edge, or even the fact that both Sophitia and Cassandra could recount exactly how almost every head was bashed in that they had struck with their shields. Whatever it was, something about those swords and shields made them hold a certain place in his heart and not let go.

Even though a yellow bruise still decorated his cheek and eye, Rothion stood tall and proud as he led his family up the hill to the household where his half of the family tree came from, not even the slightest hint of a limp, or any other sign of pain; it was as if his wounds' effects were merely cosmetic. Sophitia held his arm, which was bare, showing off its muscularity while his chest was covered with a light blue tunic, a pair of coal gray breeches coupled with a belt that had a purse or two lashed to it and a pair of short leather boots to hide the flesh of his legs. Sophitia herself was dressed simply as well: a loose, teal blue top that was held by being slung about the neck and leaving shoulders and most of the back bare. A pale blue sarong was tied over a short pair of blue pants, and only the soles of her feet were protected from the ground in sandals. Her hand gripped her husband's arm softly, for one could see scuffs and fist marks still on his shoulders and biceps.

Cassandra, however, had decided to put a little flair in her dress; if she was going to be a black sheep, she concluded that she should at least be a good looking one at that. Her golden locks held up into a high, bushy ponytail that just fell to her neck, her bangs still loose, Cassandra had put on the most decorative dress shirt she had- bright red, gold lining, and ebony and pink patterns. White silk gloves were worn over her hands, and she had a lengthy burgundy skirt that went to her knees, the soft cloth pleated to help volumize her hips. Tall, white cloth boots that hid a ways under the skirt went over her feet, their heels fashioned of hardened cork making an odd clicking sound with each step. Lucius, who was dressed almost identically to Rothion, excepting that his shirt had sleeves and was a sea green, and he wore an off-white bandana wrapped over the entire top of his head, furrowed his brow as he questioned her, "Cassandra, not that I mind, but where exactly did you get that dress?"

Upturning her nose as if she was talking to someone of lower social class, she pinched near the hem of the skirt and looked at it, pretending to be only half interested. "Oh, this silly thing? I managed to practically make a steal from a merchant to the east, in Romania."

Raising his brows, Lucius corrected, "You mean, you _did_ steal it."

A crooked grin came over Cassandra's face. "Close. To be honest, I had looted it from a wrecked merchant's wagon, shirt, dress, shoes and all."

At that, Lucius rolled his eyes as Cassandra gave a snort, attempting to hold back her laughter. "But you could have at least made an attempt to fit in. Look, even Pyrrha and Patrokolos are dressed simply enough, and they are ones who enjoy the brightest of colors under normal circumstances," Sophitia added, waving a hand at the giggling brother and sister who were toying with one another, giving each other light pushes as they were chasing about the adults' legs.

As she said, their clothes were indeed of simple design and even almost bland color, Pyrrha wearing an ivory dress with a collar filled in with a small pink ribbon, tied into a bow. There was little by way of any other decoration, excepting the occasional pale rose that was sewn into place at the hem. A pair of light pink slippers went over her dainty feet as she skipped along with her brother, who wore a light grey shirt with sleeves that had been far too long. To solve this, Sophitia had tied strips of cloth that were a darker, more slate-like gray around his wrists, leaving the shirt quite… 'poofy', as Patrokolos called it, and rightly so, as the sleeve was about four times the size of his arm. The rest of his shirt had followed suit, having been tucked into the waist of his trousers. It was not open chested, but the first button or two of the shirt had been opened so as to prevent it from being in his face. His leather shoes that he wore were simply the pair that he had played in the least, so as to be as clean as possible.

The walk was short, as the hill hadn't gone up very far. The Cretan half of Rothion's family had owned the hill and a small plot of land just at the base, just enough to farm off of. Although the house was nothing particularly amazing, it was fairly nice, and well furnished, keeping it looking suitable for visitors. Perched at the edge of a sharp drop to the wheat field, it looked as though it was in a slightly precarious position, but no worries were held, as the family was full of wondrous craftsmen.

Rothion had no need to step up to the door, as his mother flung it open with unheard of excitement, having seen him through the window. At first a smile decorated her half-wrinkled face, but it was soon replaced by a look of shock. "My son, what has happened to you? You look as though you were beaten on by a gang of thieves!" she cried, stroking his face, making him wince.()

"Please Ma, I didn't hurt until you touched them!" Rothion said in retort. "But," he continued as the older woman's hands fell, "you do not realize how close you were when you guessed 'gang of thieves'. I will explain everything when we are inside, hm?"

His mother nodded fervently, leading them to a sitting room where there were two cushioned benches, and murmuring to them, "I will fetch some wine…" as she let them take their seats. The benches were empty, save the lone spot taken by Rothion's father.

It was quite obvious what side of the family Rothion had inherited his height from, as his father was even taller than he, although rather spindly. However, one could tell by the leathered skin over his face and the calloused palms of the older man that he was indeed quite the worker, and perhaps had a deceptive build, being much stronger than he looked. His hair looked as though it had been the same near-black of Rothion's, but it was now littered with gray, looking something like ground black pepper blended thoroughly with fine salt. His eyes, however, were stone gray, and although they were such a hue, there was no coldness behind them; instead, all one could see was warmth, a sort of welcoming, something that most of the elderly that Rothion knew lacked. His clothes did not look as though they belonged to someone rich, but they most certainly were not the garb of a laborer. Instead, he wore something casual, showing that he cared about how he looked, but was not so overwhelmingly obsessive about such a trifling matter that his very world revolved on such things as how many hairs were in each eyebrow, or whether any lint was present on his shirt.

Sitting on the far end of the smaller bench, his hands folded in his lap, the man smiled with a crooked grin that was only present elsewhere on the face of Pyrrha, telling them that he was indeed her grandfather. "So... any explanation as to why we have not so much as seen a letter from you for several weeks?" he asked, a lack of seriousness evident in his contrarily wise tone.

A smile meant to hide his shame spread across Rothion's face. "I have... been busy, as of late. We all have, as a matter of fact. And, our pigeons have seen much use in sending letters to Sophitia's father. He held great concern over Pyrrha's sickness," he explained.

"As did I," the older man replied, "and I'm glad to see that she is healthy again. Tell me, how did she recover?"

"It is all a very long story. You see, there are many things that you have not been told, and I think that we should wait for Mother to come back with the wine before I begin."

Rothion's father's face darkened, his features sharpening suddenly. It wasn't a hostile expression, but it showed that he was greatly displeased to have been decieved. Only a few moments later, and the grandmother had brought from the cellar two bottles of dark, red wine, thick crusted bread, and a small wheel of cheese, all on a platter that she rested on the small table in the middle of the room. "Amarantos, how many glasses do you think we will need?" she asked her husband.

Coolly, almost disturbingly so, he answered, "Bring one for everyone except the children, I don't believe they are strong enough to withstand the sway and persuasiveness of wine just yet."

The wait was quite short, as within only a minute or two, she was back with six glasses, all of them very lustrous and wide brimmed. Amarantos poured himself a full glass, took a long and silent drink, and offered with a wave of his hand the bottle. Cassandra immediately took him up on his generosity, doing much the same herself. Lucius and Rothion followed, although with much less gusto, and Rothion filled his glass little more than halfway; to saturate his blood and slur his speech with alcohol would do no good if he were to explain himself to his parents. As for Sophitia, she took none at all, instead helping herself to a slice of bread and the pungent cheese, taking a rather small nibble.

Having served everyone else, Rothion's mother helped herself to the wine, and sipped at it casually while she stood behind Amarantos, awaiting Rothion's words. "Eris, you know you shouldn't be standing, not when a story is to be told. Come, sit down, I will make a seat for you," Amarantos said, scooting over just enough for the older woman to fit herself, which she did quite snugly. "Now, my son, why have we been left in the dark about our granddaughter...?"

LlLlLlLlLlLl

Aeon's day was rather boring after he'd learned Cesar's name. Yes, the two of them were now closer with one another, and they both discovered that Aeon had a limited ability to speak, however ineffective it was. He would need to practice. Perhaps he could learn Spanish, and communicate more comfortably with the Inquisitors? It would take some time, though, and that was something he didn't have much of. He only until they reached Spain, and he was only one nation away from there. Unless they were to continue to distract themselves, he would have no way to talk to them properly, even if he did get his mouth to move right again.

Grumbling as the last of the sun set, Aeon helped set up camp, the clearing spotted with bushes, tents, men, and wagons. He gathered twigs, dry moss, and sprinkled some gunpowder over it all, and then took a large, flat rock. Gripping it tightly, he struck it over a sword's blade, the spark setting off the powder, and lighting the other flammable material. With care and other pieces of wood being brought to the site, Aeon had a roaring fire to bask in the warmth of. Curling and resting by the flames, he didn't expect Father Romero to interrupt him just before he managed to lull himself to sleep. "Up, _bestio_. Father Ambrosio wishes to see you immediately, as he has something of great importance to show you."

Having his doubts in what Romero was telling him, Aeon rose anyway, respecting the wishes of the ones who had an entire army at their disposal. The cool grass was somewhat refreshing, giving a soft tingle to his feet that had just been warming themselves by the fire as he stepped towards the carriage. The thing was large enough for at lest two barbarian men the size of Astaroth to fit inside, and still have wiggle room. Although Romero and Aeon had to bend their heads down to stand inside, the _bestio_ merely hunched over instead of doing his neck harm as he naturally did to give himself headroom. Unarmed, he still felt strangely vulnerable, in spite of the fact that he could kill both men in an instant with his bare hands if he so wished. The tension was almost a tangible presence in the air, emanating mostly from Romero and Aeon and their intense dislike towards one another. Ambrosio, however, held an aura of worry and reluctance, something that seemed very uncharacteristic to the man. Aeon had always seen him as a man of sharp wit, quick decision-making, and great reason. For something to disturb him so was... disconcerting. Perhaps it was the pale gold of the candlelight, but to Aeon, Ambrosio's expression seemed to show weariness, his age seeming to have finally caught up with him. However, when the bishop looked up at Aeon from his seat, the cold, piercing gaze was still present. Getting straight to the point, Father Ambrosio asked sharply, "Your hands are capable with a weapon, but are you a literate one?"

Aeon nodded, having paused to consider what he meant by 'literate'. He could write, but it would be very sloppy, considering how long it had been since he'd even touched a writing quill. Drawing from a small chest at the side of his seat a downy quill, bottle of black ink, and a roll of thick, heavy parchment, handing it to the lizardman. Folding his hands after offering the two a seat, Aeon sitting crosslegged on the floor, Father Ambrosio said, "I have many questions to ask you, _el hombre lagarto_. If you cannot answer with a simple nod or shake of the head, you will write it down. _Comprendé_?" Aeon nodded.

Sighing, the mood still hadn't been lifted. He then asked, his voice comparable to the monotonous black-grey of basalt, "In our travels to Greece, we heard from a family of a sword of great power and unspeakable evils. It seems you have a connection to this family, do you not? The house where you attacked our men?" Another nod.

"What is your relations to them?"

Scrawling down on the parchment in barely intelligible scribbles, Ambrosio and Romero could barely make out the words 'religion' and 'battle'. "You say battle. Did you fight at one another's side?"

Aeon shook his head and knocked his two bony fists together, displaying that he had a history of violence towards them. "So, you fought one another. Were you there to kill them that night?"

He shook his head again. A tense moment later, and Aeon had down on the parchment, 'I came for help. But I helped them'. Ambrosio chuckled, making Romero's face redden brightly. How embarrassing! To be humiliated by this man-beast! "Indeed, you did help them. If you were not there with malicious intent, what kind of help did you seek?"

A quick scratching of the quill after a dip, and Aeon had written, 'Forgiveness', 'Repent', and 'Apology'.

A slight frown decorated Ambrosio's face. "You did not come for the information of Soul Edge?"

Aeon's head shot straight up at the mare sound of the blade's name, his eyes wide and frill having fanned out threateningly. This time, he shook his head violently, with a loud growl. He started writing again, having to dip in the middle of his scrawl. 'Soul Edge is evil. It eats souls and makes people insane. It turns the land into ash. If I came for Soul Edge, it would be to smash it, not find and keep it. How do you know of Soul Edge?'

Both Ambrosio and Romero were rather shocked by the ferocity of Aeon's reaction to the simple name of the blade. After reading his answer and fired back question, Romero answered with a contemptual voice that he lamely attempted to disguise with a calm exterior, "I learned of this during my _interrogatorio_ of the Alexandras, as I asked them of a demon said to be wandering about and sickening the children."

'Why do you have me here?'

"Ah, so the _bestio_ thinks he is here to ask the _preguntas_ now, eh?" Father Romero shot accusingly, trying to make the situation as unfavorable for Aeon as possible.

"Still your tongue, Romero. I will show him why he has been brought here," Ambrosio said sharply, his hand raised. Reaching back into the chest, he withdrew his hand steadily, holding a lead box that was the size of a large dinner plate. "Inside this box is a relic that I can assure you is disturbing to the eyes and mind. It will speak to you, and the voice will make you sick, but I also promise that it holds powers that must be gifts from God."

Opening the gold latch that held the lid down, Ambrosio lifted the lid, and displayed its contents. At first, Aeon thought it was merely a large, orange stone; but it was soon after that he saw much of it to look like... _bone_! A lighter tone of reddish-orange crystal surrounded the fleshy reds, browns, and purples that twisted around the centerpiece. It was almost circular, but it had to much of an ovoid shape, almost like an eyeball... noticing that there was a thick, skin-like membrane over the middle, Aeon nearly prodded at the thing, but something about the object's familiarity utterly unnerved him, making him loathe to even touch it. Before he could set a talon on it, however, the membrane split, revealing a crystalline eye of cream and scarlet, veins pulsing deeply and visibly throughout it. '_So, foul creature, you've come to see me again..._' A voice trailed through his head, echoing off the inner walls of his skull.

Aeon stood and roared at the demonic item that was held in front of him, spoke to him, even _casually insulted_ him, then struck it from Ambrosio's hands. The ink well spilled, the darkness splattering all over Aeon like so much spoiled blood as he thrashed about the place, unable to retain his hatred towards the object. In desperation he cried out, staring straight at the thing, "Saaawwr Eeeecch!"

CcCcCcCcCcCc

Left to himself for the time being, Cesar had decided to take watch around the camp, circling the premises through the night. The shifts weren't long: two laps clockwise, one counter-clockwise, in alternating patterns. The guardsman was on his second clockwise lap when he heard the sound of a beastly, feral call, one that sounded desperate and violent. Stopping in his tracks, Cesar heard the cry again, although this one had some syllabic notes to it- Aeon! He was in danger!

Running to the source of the noise, Cesar found that he was not the only one who'd heard. A small group of soldiers had gathered around the wagon, granting it a wide berth; he understood why. If something could put the lizardman in that much trouble, they were certain that they would be of little to no help. The carriage rocked back and forth, vicious scratching noises muffled only slightly by the wood and cloth inside. Cesar worked up the courage to step up to the door, knocking and then immediately kneeling, his head almost touching his upright knee. It was just his luck that he did as well, for when he bowed to the ground, Aeon smashed the door from its hinges, springing out of the carriage as quickly as he could. With a mid-air twist, Aeon landed on his feet, skidding to a halt, and hissing loudly at the two holy men inside. Slowly backing away, Aeon soon made a break for it, running to the edge of the camp, where the trees began to spring up more thickly, allowing him to have time to himself.

Cesar had rolled over and watched the spectacle, stunned at what had just happened. Standing and looking at the two older men suspiciously, particularly Romero, he wondered aloud, "_Qué hiciste con él_?*" *(What did you do to him?)

Neither Ambrosio nor Romero offered any kind of respite to his lingering suspicion.

CcCcCcCcCcCc

(And hooray, finally done! With this chapter, at least. I hope you like it, and I'll try to get back to working on this, although, jsut so you know, my updates are going to be pretty slow on both of my fics. R&R, please, and I'd enjoy a bit of constructive critique as well.)


	7. Chapter 7

(A/N): A new character or two is going to be added here, sometime late in the chapter.

RrRrRrRrRrRr

_Days_, it had been four miserable days since Raphael discovered that Amy had fled the house. His eyelids were swollen and purple, his face a color so pale even a ghost would look twice. He lacked the consideration to take care of his hair, and it showed, tangles and mats beginning to form near the ends. Sadness, anger, self-abhorrence, and an endless fountain of doubt and regret poured from his being as Siegfried would scour the nearby lands on his horse, even traveling into Paris to look for her. When he would return from the day's search empty handed, Raphael would only despair further, and weep through the night until he cried himself to sleep by dawn. By the fifth morning, however, Siegfried had grown tired of his host and friend's childish behavior, and decided to take matters into his own hands.

Marching up to Raphael's chambers, Siegfried, dressed in his full plate, polished to gleam like a silver platter, threw open the heavy, oaken doors with little care for what happened to them. His face was contorted with irritation as the shimmering knight stomped toward the cumbersome, velvet curtains, woven thick to block any and all light from the room. As he cast them open, Siegfried turned his back to the sun that shone through, every facet on his armor shining like its own star; or, perhaps, a drop of dew, to be more accurate, concerning the time of day. The sunlight, having made contact with Raphael's weary form, made him twist, hissing and spitting in pain, as though he were some sort of cat born from Hell and promptly doused with holy water. "_Wake, du verdammter Idiot!*_" With his locks glowing in the sun and such a furious expression, one may have mistaken Siegfried for some sort of avenging angel, so it was no wonder that when Raphael opened his eyes, he fell from his bed. (*Wake, you damned idiot!)

"Ai!"

Rolling his eyes at the nobleman's clumsiness, Siegfried strode to the side of the bed Raphael had fallen from, hefting him from the mess of sheets and blankets he had entangled himself in. Even though Siegfried was shorter, he certainly didn't seem it at that point, his gauntlet-plated hands gripping Raphael by the underarms and lifting him far above the knight's head before plopping him to the bed again, this time on his rear end. Raphael barely managed to recover without falling over himself, scrambling away, even with the morning light that glimmered through giving him much discomfort. "What iz wrong wit' you?"

"De fact d'at you cannot even gazzer de nerve to march into Paris wit' me and find Amy!" Siegfried roared at him, spreading his arms like he was opening the doors for Raphael to choose a new path. "You know she saw Tira run to de city, and if she vould be anyvhere, d'at is vhere she vould go! You, Raphael, should know your daughter so vell you could spot her in a crowd of millions. You already can svay her much more readily than I, so ve need not scare her.

"Aside from d'at, you are her fadder, Raphael," Siegfried continued, shaking his head slightly, "To send odders to fetch her for you is simply cowardice, and Amy vill see d'at. She vould never respect you again."

Even Raphael, who was known for having nerves of steel, began to slowly back away from the heavily armored knight as he was pummeled with accusations of duty and expectations. Feeling that he was reaching the other side of his bed, Raphael stopped, realizing that he had no more room to work with. He sighed and lowered his head; he felt defeated from each and every possible angle, and that there was no way for him to win. Even if Siegfried could convince him to search together, what was the point? It wasn't as though the two of them would be able to find one girl searching throughout all of Paris, would they? The chances were almost nil, and they would most likely cause a scene- two nobles, one of them a knight, of foreign origins no less- and Amy would notice, and flee the area. But, he considered the fact that they had a chance at all, compared to none. After all, it was certainly a higher likelihood than when he went on his escapades for Soul Edge and Soul Calibur. Standing up, Raphael conceded. "_Oui_, I will follow. But, at least let me make myself presentable, eh? Not even ze beggairs would look up to me like z'is..."

AaAaAaAaAaAa

The morning shone warmly onto her face, and with a yawn and a stretch, the youth stood to greet the next lonely day with a neutral expression. Dusting herself off, she made a short examination of the feathered hem of her clothes; a sigh escaped her lips as she noted a broken quill. Snapping off the dangling down, Amy held her cloak tightly as she trotted down the street, her dainty legs barely showing at all from under the cloak, tunic, and fishnet. The only thing that showed gave any sense of foreboding about her was the tip of the rapier that was visible, hanging to her knees, bobbing up and down with each and every one of her light and airy steps.

In spite of the fact that she was in the slums of Paris, surrounded by nothing but beggars, thieves, murderers, and lecherous criminals of every kind, their leering eyes lingering on her childish form a few seconds too long to be without perverse thought, Amy felt as though she was in a cheerful mood. Even the sun and its damnable, enervating rays could not extinguish the warm happiness that held its ground beneath her tingling skin. Her step, although somewhat sprightly, had a relaxed, idle air to it, as though she wished to savor the energy put into every footfall. A girlish swing of the hips, a playful skip, even the occasional twirl; she was obviously enjoying herself.

But what, exactly? It would just so happen to be that Amy was taking great pleasure in the nostalgia of returning to her first home; although she was not in Rouen, the setting was strikingly familiar, what with the similar sort of populace and architecture, not to mention the sensation of complete and utter freedom to do as she pleased. No _pére_ to tell her what to do, no servants to dress her for breakfast and luncheon and supper and bedtime, and no guests to be forced to respect. The world revolved around what she could do and influence on her own, no matter how big or small.

A loud growl was heard, and a vibrating sensation was felt in the center of her torso. Stopping suddenly, Amy realized that she hadn't eaten for days, and at this rate, she would starve to death, being too weak to even retrieve the weakest of prey. She was teetering on the direction of her fate at the moment, and to linger on the choice any longer would prove deadly. Making up her mind on the spot, Amy whisked away into the nearest alleyway and disappeared into the shadows, seen by any of the passerby as no more than a flash of ebony and a hint of skin. The shadows kept her from the harmful sun's brightness, bestowing upon her almost instantly a small amount of strength, just enough to pick up speed. She knew of a small gang of thieves that resided nearby, a group no larger than five, and a few she suspected to be away, looting the pockets of pedestrians. Stopping at a corner, pressing her back against the grayish-red brick, she drew Albion and listened intently. The voices of two could be heard- a man and woman, or perhaps a young boy- talking about yesterday's pool of money, and complaining how it had been divvied. They drew nearer, steadily, which Amy favored, for it gave her better opportunity to determine when to strike. She waited... and waited...

And attacked!

Although compared to how she would have performed at full strength under the watch of the pale face of the moon she was sluggish and sloppy, Amy still caught the two off guard, her stiff, wickedly sharp blade piercing the nearest, the man, in the chest. The slender man's lung was punctured, and Amy held the weapon between his ribs for one excruciating moment, baring her pointed teeth and opening her scarlet eyes, letting her gaze meet his own dying one before dropping him to he ground as though he were a sack of grain. Turning to the other thief, who happened to be a young woman, no more than Tira's age, Amy lunged, twirling like a trained dancer as she grazed the tip of her blade against the woman's face. Despite the fact that the blow was mostly cosmetic, it was that she landed it with such skill that struck fear into the opposing thief. The thief drew her weapon, a lengthy dagger,although it seemed to be in more of a defensive position than anything else. Another leap toward her foe, and Amy swung vertically at her with inhuman ferocity, knocking the dagger from her hand. Landing, she made a thrust, her rapier piercing the thief's left shoulder, the pain bringing the woman to her knees. Just as Amy was about to deal a deathblow, she heard the man behind her cough, sputtering a large amount of blood before whispering, "...Vampire..."

The word caught her attention and she whipped in his direction, fangs gritting together in irritation. "_Tais-toi, imbécile!_*" she screeched at him as she stomped at him, frustration slowly burning through her veins. (*"Shut up, fool!")

Driving the heel of her boot into the man's cheek, grinding the bones into chips and dust, she did not notice the departure of the female thief, her anger and attention far too occupied by the brutality of her treatment towards the thief that was still in her grasp. Finally, she decided to end his miserable existence, and gripped the man by his broken jaw; with the limited strength she had, both as a girl and as a weakened vampire, she could only heft his torso from the cobblestone, and had to kneel before sinking her teeth into the warm flesh of his neck. He was unable to scream as her jagged, toothy maw ground into his throat, the hot blood running down both her chin and his shirt. It was within only a few minutes that the man's face was even paler than her own, and he collapsed to the ground, dead. He would be unable to rise again, his body too damaged and drained to continue any sort of cursed life.

Licking her chops and wiping them clean with her sleeve, Amy stood, a certain flushed color to her face that had been absent before. She knew it would be temporary, but it would last her the day, unless she were to overwork herself, and she didn't plan any such thing, unless the rest of the thieves were to ambush her. It would be their demise, but she would require much rest then.

Giving a quick glance about the area, she realized how likely of a situation that could become when she took notice of the other thief's absence. It did not worry her in the least, merely give her a note to bother herself with were she to happen upon a bunch of hooligans who deluded themselves into believing they could defeat her. Smiling lightly at the matter, Amy wiped the remaining blood from Albion on the lower end of her cloak before putting it away again, and skipping back to the more public streets, energized and her hunger satiated for the moment.

TtTtTtTtTtTt

Spying from above the scene where a young girl had viciously killed a man and wounded a woman, a raven of great proportions flapped its sable wings and took flight above the city of Paris. With a minuscule twist of its tail, it made a spiral into an updraft of air warmed by sunlight, making the occasional flutter to stay airborne. As soon as it reached a satisfying altitude, the raven slipped from the thermal and glided to a rather tall building, a church of mesmerizing heights, that was only a few streets away. Landing on the rooftop, it hopped towards a figure that rested near the steeple, and looked up wistfully. Looking downward, the figure gave a short 'Oh!' of surprise before picking it up on her arm. The figure was Tira, although her once festive jester costume had been shredded, the tatters now reduced to a rather familiar look of fashion that she had when she first was recruited by Nightmare. She had left the hat behind completely, and had tightly bound most of her ragged clothes into a vaguely suggestive pattern. It was entertaining to her; the assassin had loved patchwork, no matter how sloppy, nor how revealing. Looking into the raven's crimson eye, her own magenta orbs lit up with joy at the news she received from the bird. Pecking it lightly on the top of its beak, she cast it off to the sky, and began to dash about the rooftops, leaping over them with unmatched agility.

"Amy is near!" she cackled gleefully, aiming to be at her side any moment. It seemed that she was in such a joyous mood that not even the death of a Watcher would have been able to water down her spirits.

In mere moments, Tira was hanging over Amy, peering often as the young girl mingled with the crowd. Her heart fluttered each time she glanced over the gutters, for several reasons: perhaps she would be spotted, not only by Amy, but by one of the city's officials, and then what? Or maybe she would look too far and lose her balance, then fall either to her death or her great embarrassment at the hands of Amy. The simple thought made her blush, let alone it actually happening.

Following the little girl a ways further, Tira finally deemed it worthwhile to risk giving up her position so she would be able to monitor Amy so much closer. Happening upon an alleyway with a relatively short drop, the assassin made a landing with cat-like fluidity and grace, and stood in the shadows for only a few moments. As soon as a particular victim passed by- a commoner, and a woman at that- Tira snared her in a tight grip and slapped a hand over the young woman's mouth, holding her silent as she was dragged into the darkness. A thud was heard, and mere seconds later, Tira could be seen, wearing a blouse and a skirt, draped over with an apron, tying her hair back into a knot with a few wily bangs hanging over her eyes in the front. She actually found the new attire to be somewhat convenient, as it allowed her to conceal her knife, now the only weapon she carried, effectively and discreetly, able to kill someone who was unsuspecting if the need arose.

Steadily making her way through the mess of people, Amy was soon in view, and Tira couldn't help but giggle as though she were a milk maid who had just been flirting with the cutest farmboy she'd seen. '_but you know this is all going to go badly, don't you?_' her inner sadness and reclusiveness piped in, warning her with, '_because if you actually bothered with paying attention, you would have noticed that the watcher also said siegfried and raphael are in the city now._'

'_What!_' her deep, dark malevolence shrieked, unwilling to believe such a thing. '_They could not possibly still continue their search; by now, any parent would have left their child to the Fates._'

"They must not be parents then, huh?" Tira said to herself aloud, clapping her hand over her mouth as soon as she realized her mistake.

Amy made a glance behind herself, and for a brief moment, their gazes met, a rosy scarlet embracing flowery orchid. Even with Tira's fingers masking most of her face, the younger girl was still doubtless as to who it was- those eyes being unforgettable- and dashed in her direction. Hugging Tira about the waist almost with a painfully tight grip, Amy cried out, "_Mon ami! Où avez-vous été?_*" (*My friend! Where have you been?)

Managing to pry the girl who was desperately clinging from her now sore torso, Tira waved at the question as though she were batting away a fly, replying, "_ Oh, ici et là, de nombreux lieux à Paris. Fascinant place, pour être honnête avec vous.*_" (*Oh, here and there, many places in Paris. Fascinating place, to be honest with you.)

If she could, though, Tira would easily and immediately part with some of the dearest posessions she ever had taken hold of, if only to be out of the wretched, obnoxious, and all-around repugnant city at the snap of her fingers. A very dangerous pair of men were after their daughter and goddaughter respectively, and if they were to catch the two of them together, Tira would be a red smear on the broadside of Siegfried's gargantuan zweihander. She doubted that she would be allowed to live if she were found by herself, let alone accompanying Amy. Suddenly coming to a revelation for what could be done, Tira suggested to Amy, alternating to English, "Amy, I've got a very important job to do right now. Do you think that you could wait for just a teensy-weensy bit somewhere else, say... the cathedral, by nightfall?"

Amy looked upward at Tira, befuddled and slightly hurt. "I... I am to wait? Why? What iz z'is job you speak of?"

Hurriedly making an excuse to get away for a moment, she answered, "Something so secret that not even my _ami intime_ is supposed to know. I need to get to my spot soon, or I'll be short on time. So remember _ami_, _la cathédrale_."

"_Oui, la cathédrale_."

Giving her a peck on the cheek, Tira watched Amy sprint through the streets, worming her way through the alleys to make her way to the place of sermon. As soon as the girl disappeared around the corner, Tira looked about the street for anyone before she would flee to the sadows herself- and she was absolutely mortified to find a man with lengthy, blond hair on a horse in full armor with an even longer sword, riding alongside a carriage. The one guiding the horses in the carriage was a man with a wide-brimmed hat and mantle of white, and his clothes consisted of many other pale colors; reflectors of light. It had to be Siegfried, Raphael, and one of his servants, as she knew that the sun's glare weakened them. Indeed it was, she recognized the blade of Requiem, and she knew no other who would have such a as she was going to turn away from them, Siegfried's piercing gaze met her own, and she felt as though a spear of ice had ran along her spine. At that, she whipped around and quickly walked away, attempting to make herself appear as someone who had simply caught sight of a particularly intimidating man and wished to be out of his path. 'we_ know that he's realized who we are, and he's going to come after us, and flatten us like an insect under his boot-_'

"Please, not now..."

'_Hah! We felt how badly Soul Calibur burned, that frost gripping us by the heart. This time, he'll kill us with it!_'

"Shut up, shut up, shut up..."

'**It's okay, honey! All he'll do is get rid of that nasty wittle Nightmare's mark, and ask where Amy went! We think.**'

"Shut up!" Tira screamed, gripping the sides of her head amd driving away some of the people on the street. She instantly regretted that, as she heard a horse's hooves behind her, and very close. They weren't a diligent run, however, but more of a trot that displayed confidence in the rider's chance of getting to the target without it getting away.

She didn't need to look behind her to know who it was. Finally able to regain her composure, Tira could feel the cool steel of a gauntlet on her shoulder as she lifted her head. "Tira," Siegfried's powerful voice began in a disturbingly calm tone, "you vill come vit' us. I do not vish to make s'is more complicated d'an it needs to be."

Turning to face him, Tira saw his stern, unmoving face. Compromise was most definitely not an option, and if she were to even think of trying her dagger, she'd have no chance of penetrating that heavy armor. '_Don't surrender, you dolt! Either he'll kill you, or Raphael will turn you into a slave, just like he does with everyone else! I'm surprised he hasn't made a move on Siegfried yet, in all honesty._'

Ignoring the advice of Gloom, Tira followed Siegfried to the carriage, stepping inside as Siegfried tied his horse to the side before entering himself. Tira was seated next to Raphael, and directly across from Siegfried, a position that left her feeling very exposed. Raphael was the first to ask anything, his voice also calm, but there was a certain predatory feel to it, as though he was a falcon that had just eaten, so the mouse it eyed was simply out of curiosity, not hunger. "Where iz she?"

Tira was more than aware of who the vampire was asking. "I... don't know."

"_She lies,_" came a feminine voice that seemed to be from nowhere.

This time with a touch more hostility in his voice, Raphael requested, "So, I ask again, where iz Amy?"

Tira's face suddenly darkened, her expression changing from worry to anger. "_You'll never know. She'll have been dead by the time you find her, her bones picked clean-_"

Raphael's velvet glove met her face in an unnervingly vicious slap, jerking her head to the side. "Tell me z'is instant, or so God save me and ze remains of your pitiful soul!"

"_Never!_" Tira growled, which was met with Raphael's fist being driven into her stomach.

As his knuckles collided with her gut, he felt the rigid handle of the dagger in her apron. While she was still keeled over, Raphael drew it and observed its keen edge for a moment. He then whispered into her ear his voice trembling with repressed fury, "You will eizzer tell me where my daughter iz, or 'ave a face to match our friend 'ere... and pair'aps more."

Finally able to catch her breath for a moment, Tira belted out a wicked cackle. "_I've had worse torture when I was a Bird of Passage, you incompetent fool._"

Raphael sighed. "So be it." Grasping her by the jaw, Raphael pressed the point of the knife into the skin just above her left brow, dragging it along her face excruciatingly slowly, ending just to the left of her mouth. Her shrieks made the horses whinny.

_'Siegfried, will you just sit here and watch as he does this to her?_' Soul Calibur asked with concern.

'She has brought it on herself, and Raphael is as stubborn as I. D'ere is no changing his mind.'

'_There is a difference between persuasion and interference, Siegfried. Keep that in mind, dear._'

'Vat?'

'_Nothing._'

By the time his conversation with Soul Calibur was over, Siegfried saw that Raphael had made another gash on Tira, this one over her right collarbone, and was opting to make another on her breast of the same side. Siegfried quickly snatched the Frenchman by the wrist, wrapping his metal-clad fingers tightly just below Raphael's thumb. Shaking his head silently, Siegfried pulled the blade away from Tira's chest. Raphael looked at him quizzically, but understood that Siegfried had something on his mind, so he kept quiet. Drawing Soul Calibur from the pouch at his belt, Siegfried placed it on Tira's chest, although nothing happened for a few moments. To this, Tira gave an expression of fear and confusion, unsure of what was to happen as the palm of Siegfried's gauntlet pressed the cold shard against her.

And then a sensation of what felt like ice water flowing through her veins, but it was a feeling of ecstasy, not agony. She gasped sharply, almost choking on her breath, her back arching so far that she looked like she would have been seeing the world upside down, were her eyes open. As it were, the stimulus of Soul Calibur's energy on her chest was so enthrallingly euphoric that her eyes shut themselves as they rolled into the back of her head. Her knife wounds closed almost immediately, leaving behind nothing but the trails of blood that had dribbled from them and a very thin, clean scar where the cuts had been.

The shard began to glow ever brighter, causing Raphael to recoil from the vibrant display of radiance. He began to grow even more jaundiced towards the assassin, and also... envious. Here she was, recieving the services that he and his daughter had been promised, simply because she had been discovered, and she was known to be stained by the murderous taint of Soul Edge. He wanted to rip Siegfried's arm away, for if he was to be denied purity, so would Tira; but to even look in the direction of the shard was utter agony when it did its work, and if he were to take hold of it, Raphael was sure that he would be seriously harmed, if not destroyed. Siegfried was the one who moderated the power of the spirit inside, and to expose himself to it all without reserves could spell his doom. The unfairness of it all was so frustrating!

Finally, after a few more moments, the brilliance faded, and Raphael could hear both of them breathing heavily. Tira was panting like an overworked hound, and Siegfried's breath was steady and deep, although one could see the cold, gritty sweat that beaded on his forehead. Pulling his hand away, there was a loud cracking sound, one of ice breaking. Still holding Soul calibur in his hand, Siegfried looked at his fist, sighing as he saw that it was thickly frosted over with ice as clear as glass. Ignoring his hand for a time, Siegfried tiredly asked Tira, "De voices... s'ey trouble you no more?"

Tira's wearied and now scarred face wrinkled as she strained visibly, from what seemed to be thinking very hard. Raphael could have sworn that smoke was about to pour from her ears if she didn't stop immediately. Suddenly, her eyes shot up to Siegfried, laden with tears, and she leapt for him, seizing him in her arms that couldn't quite reach completely around his armor. "_Off de lui, vous folle!_*" Raphael hissed as he yanked her away from the startled knight. Siegfried had expected some kind of positive reaction, but to be held in such a tight embrace was rather uncomfortable, even with the plate mail between them. (*Off of him, you madwoman!)

Wailing through tears of joy, Tira cried, "Yes! Yes, they are gone! I feel..." and just as quickly as she had started into such joy, she looked as though something dawned on her, and a very heavy weight had been dropped onto her back. "I feel... so alone."

Siegfried felt only a small amount of pity for her, as she must have relied on them for much of her life to be able to handle the more gruesome aspects of her profession. But they had no time to feel sorry for anybody at the moment, for they had a child to recover. "So, vhere is she?"

Tira's epiphany had stricken a particularly sour note on her heartstrings, and it seemed that it would be some time before she would recover. What she did come to understand was that, since she had no one else, Amy was the only other person that she had left, and she wasn't going to escape from these two men. The only choice she had was to disclose the information of where they were to meet, and chance running away then. The one person that could possibly catch them would be Raphael, as he had strange powers that would allow him to keep up with her quick pace. So, her mind set on another plan, Tira admittied to them, "I was to meet Amy by the nearby cathedral at nightfall, once the stars were visible."

"What were your plans z'en, hm? What were you going to do to hair?" Raphael demanded, acid on his tongue.

"That is none of your business," Tira shot back, "All you asked for was her location, and I told you where we were going to meet. I don't know where she is now, so I gave you the next place I know she'll be."

Raphael growled deeply, looking ready to slash her throat, but Siegfried caught his intentions before he could act on them. Thinking quickly, he reasoned, "Restrain yourself, Raphael, ve should keep her for at least a little longer. Ve let her out first to gif Amy a sense of security, and s'en you can get a hold of Amy, vhile I take care of Tira."

Sighing through his nose, Raphael conceded. "I guess you are right," he said with disdain, "It's not as if she can do anyt'ing unarmed."

LlLlLlLlLlLl

By sunset, Aeon could see the gates of Paris and the taller buildings that decorated the urban setting. The golden shine of the sun cast shadows that made every minute detail of the city easily visible, the contrast aiding the lizardman's already acute vision. He trudged on with a troupe of men that were to scour the streets along with Romero in search of the demonic influence that was present. What remained of Soul Edge, as Aeon knew it, was guiding them to find other sources of power, and although he would do his best to prevent it from restoring itself, he also recognized his responsibility to the Inquisition, and would not abandon them. He may act against them, if only to prevent the accursed sword from returning to full strength, but he would prove to those arrogant bastards that he was more human than not, perhaps even moreso than they.

After only another hour of marching, the soldiers had reached the city gates. Father Romero in the lead, the guards approached them and asked with a dutiful tone,"_Le but de votre présence ici n'est pas connue, le père, bien que votre présence est toujours la bienvenue. Pourquoi avez-vous venir à Paris?_*" (*Your purpose for being here is unknown, Father, although your presence is always welcome. Why have you come to Paris?)

Answering by whipping a rolled document from his embroidered sleeve, Romero replied in fluent French, "_Je suis ici pour une affaire importante, a demandé et écrit par le pape lui-même. Nous sommes à détruire toutes les traces d'une créature démoniaque qui répand sa souillure à travers le pays et son peuple, et nous en sommes venus à soupçonner son influence a atteint un peu de citoyens de certains dans votre ville. Nous sommes simplement ici pour déraciner et les supprimer de votre ville respectable._*" (*I am here on important business, requested and written by the Pope himself. We are to destroy all traces of a demonic creature who spreads its taint through the land and its people, and we have come to suspect its influence has reached a certain few citizens in your city. We are simply here to uproot and remove them from your respectable city.)

Taking a quick scan over the paper, the guard who had approached Romero nodded in approval. However, he made a look of revulsion in Aeon's direction. "_Et cette créature répugnante est avec vous parce que ...?_*" (*And that disgusting creature is with you because...?)

Romero made a casual chuckle, using his hand for emphasis as he explained, "_La bête est ici un moyen de... persuasion._" (*The beast is here for a means of... persuasion.)

Grunting in disapproval, the guards till allowed him through. "_Seulement si vous le garder sous étroite surveillance, et enveloppé. Nous ne pouvons pas avoir les citoyens dans une panique._*" (*Only if you keep him under close watch, and shrouded. We cannot have the citizens in a panic.)

Nodding curtly, Romero ordered for the men to cover Aeon in a heavy, red cloak and mantle, a hood and muffling scarf to mask his reptilian facial features. Holding his tail over his shoulder to prevent its revealing to the public, he trudged into the city, along with the rest of the soldiers.

"The _demonios _are nearby," Romero told his men with haste as they marched inside. "Their taint has gathered near a cathedral in the poorest district. We will split up into smaller groups and take separate paths to flush them out. _Comprendé_?"

"_Si._"

Turning to Aeon, Romero said with a helping of disdain, "You, bestio, shall be accompanied by Cesar and two others. You more than make up for what the lack of men would entail, and Cesar seems to be the only one who you get along with. We cannot have you _que causan estragos._* Go, I will be with the largest group that heads straight for the cathedral." At that, Romero did just as he said, leaving to join the strike team of soldiers that held the highest numbers. (*running amok [roughly])

As soon as the Inquisitor had left, Cesar asked Aeon, "You are armed, yes?" to which he nodded. "_Bien_. You will need it."

Aeon in the lead, he began to give the occasional sniff to the air. It was _umpteen_ times worse than Athens! Smoke, spittle, and sweat pervaded his nostrils wherever they went, not to mention so many other unspeakables that were so terrible and foreign to him. It was worse than the acrid swamps that Kunpaetku had built into his shrine, but at least the smell had come naturally, as he'd let the water flood the place from a nearby lake. But this!- it was the most vile and disgusting thing he'd ever put his snout through, and was almost becoming nauseous from the rank stench. Having heard stories from other lizardfolk of those of the reptilian ilk having moved into the sewers of the cities and venturing about at night, Aeon completely dashed such foolish beliefs from his mind; surely nothing with an ounce of wit left would dare to live in something so revolting.

And yet, as he witnessed in his patrol through the streets, humans both thrived and suffered here. Those who had some sort of money could afford food and a home, and a fairly comfortable life, while they spat on the ones who were so low, so poor and so weak they had to live in the alleys and couldn't move, rolling in their own filth by the time they could make it to the roadside in the off chance that someone may spare them a coin. And everyone had some sort of fear lingering in the back of their mind, and Aeon could see why as he spied the occasional bandit or mugger slinking away in the shadows, possibly startled by his odd shape and fierce, lizard-like eyes. They were the predators of this place, and for someone to invade uninvited was unwelcome and offputting. Aeon could tell that they were now just as much prey as the others were, as the soldiers were simply the ones with bigger weapons. That, and perhaps they fought better. One could never know how well a warrior had trained himself on his own.

The path to the cathedral had been easy, save for the nightmare of smells that Aeon had to endure. As the front doors of the church came into view, so did the figure of a little girl with red hair and a black cloak, shivering slightly in her boots. The evening had started to become slightly bitter, as the weather started in the direction of becoming moist. Able to detect a familiar taint upon her, Aeon pointed in her direction and nodded, to which Cesar replied with a confounded expression. "Are you sure?" he whispered. Aeon grunted and nodded again.

Putting on a friendly smile, Cesar stepped up to her, his bardiche in a non-hostile position. He waved and greeted her in English, "Hello, Miss. How are you today?"

Surprised by the man's sudded appearance, Amy jumped and was even more shocked by the weapon he held. She didn't recognize that it was in a relaxed hold, and scrambled backwards, eyes wide. It was then that Cesar saw how Aeon knew: her eyes were as red as freshly spilled blood. Her skin was as pale as a full moon, and he knew that no one could make their face so white without poisoning themselves or bleeding to death. Still, Cesar stepped forward and offered his hand, attempting to reason with her, "Please, I mean no harm, Miss. We only wish to speak with you for a moment!" but she batted it away, shrieking, "Go away!"

At that, Cesar was the one who was stunned, as he saw her canine teeth, long and razor sharp. Fear overcame him as whether or not to reach out again or not, for he may just lose his hand. In Cesar's moment of reluctance, Amy took advantage of the moment to stand and flee the scene.

Having been sitting in the carriage nearby, masked by the crowds, Raphael and Siegfried witnessed Amy's departure. Their plans ruined by the interference of some foreign soldier, Raphael planned to wring the man's neck like a wet rag- until he saw the true identity of the one cloaked so heavily in red. As the man ripped the hampering cloth from him in one swift motion, Raphael was shocked to see that it was no man, but instead a man_beast_! Both Siegfried and Raphael had parted ways with the carriage at this point, a very distraught and harried Tira hot on their heels as Aeon chased Amy, followed by Cesar, the other two soldiers, Raphael, Tira and Siegfried, in that order.

Taking quick glances behind her, Amy could see the ferocious lizardman gaining headway, a breastplate over his chest and a buckler over his right arm. She wasn't aware of what weapons he had, but she didn't want to find out, either; it seemed she would have no such luck, however, for as she reached one of the town's squares, a small fountain in the center, she saw many other soldiers gathering there, clearing the populace from the area. With the others behind her, she was surrounded. Stopping at the stone boundary of the fountain, Amy turned to see the lizardman walking toward her steadily, his palm outstretched as if he was asking her to come with him peacefully. Her, with such a monster, in peace? Never! Not in a thousand years tenfold would she ever do something so ludicrous! Making a brazen decision, Amy drew Albion and charged, making a powerful thrust forward, which Aeon easily sidestepped, catching the rapier by its less-than-keen blade and snatching it from her threw it to the side, and growled, offering his hand again as Tira rushed by, holding Amy like a beloved sister. Tears ran down her face as she looked ready to shield Amy from any blows that Aeon may be ready to throw in their direction.

"Ai! Foul creature!"

Turning around, Aeon saw Raphael pointing his own rapier at him, although from a fair distance away. Two soldiers lay dead, and Cesar had a shoulder wound, his free hand clutching the bleeding cut tightly. Siegfried had just turned the corner and registered what exactly had happened so far, turning to the lizardman that had just drawn a heavy looking hand axe and was marching in Raphael's direction, growling angrily.

Aeon waved Cesar away, his frill giving a flutter of hatred. That man was the closest thing to a friend that he had, and this gormless worm had the _nerve_, the utter _gall_, to try and kill him. Aeon would make him pay, and he wouldn't simply try, he really would kill Raphael. Making a step forward with a roar, Aeon twisted his entire body for a swing at the vampire, but with a crooked grin and a plume of red and black smoke, the man vanished. Instincually, Aeon realized that the most likely place for someone to teleport like that would be behind him, and at that, he unleashed his attack in a gyro-spin, striking Raphael ove the forehead with his buckler, who was about to impale Aeon. Raphael was knocked to the ground, looking both dizzy and embarrassed. To most, it didn't seem it would be so for long as Aeon held his axe high and made a bestial screech as he crought it down, only to smash it into cobblestone as Raphael rolled out of the way.

Leaping to his feet and shaking off the shock of the blow he'd sustained, Raphael saw Aeon rise up from the force of his own attack that would have been a deathblow, were he not so agile. A growl, and then Aeon sprang at Raphael, tackling and pinning him to the ground. Just as Aeon was about to bite the vampiric man in the face, however, Aeon heaved as he felt a metallic foot collide with his torso, flinging him from Raphael. Rolling over and looking upward to see who delivered suck a powerful kick, Aeon saw Siegfried, stalking towards him slowly with Requiem pointed towards his chest. Backing away and standing as fast as possible, Aeon recovered and readied himself for battled with the knight and possibly with Raphael, simultaneously.

Behind them, Cesar had collapsed by the fountain, cringing in pain. There were far more wounds than the mere cut on his shoulder- a menagerie of slashes decorated his chest, as his armor had been ripped from his body somehow, his left thigh had a thrust wound, and a long gash was left across his stomach. He leaned his head back, panting heavily and wishing that he would faint and not have to feel anything until he either died or healed. Tira stood with her back to Amy, Cesar a mere three steps away, fending off approaching soldiers with weapons they'd managed to wrestle from their grasp. Tira had a pistol and a rifle with a bayonet, using the thing like a blend between a spear and sword. She'd emptied the musket, and with a puff of smoke, the pistol was empty as well, the bullet having hit one of the Inquisition's men in the throat. Flipping it around, the assassin began to use it as a sap, beating those who managed to get near of the head or in other painful areas when the bayonet was busy.

Amy, in the meantime, had managed to nab a saber from one of them, and was fiercely hacking away at the soldiers and their weapons. It was somewhat unwieldly to her, for it wasn't as much of a thrusting weapon as her familiar rapier, but it would suffice.

With the two men facing him, zweihander and rapier respectively, Aeon knew he was outmatched, but there had to be a way for him to get them to give in. He thought of his position, and their goal. He was part of the Inquisition, for the moment, who were after the tainted ones in the city, who they'd found. One was a child. He could use that to gain leverage. Immediately putting away his axe, Aeon dove into the ring of men that circled Amy and Tira. As he rolled to absorb the fall, he immediately followed up with flying to his feet and slinging his shielded arm into the surprised Tira's face, knocking her asunder. Kicking her weapons aside, Aeon then grappled Amy from behind, wrapping one forearm over her throat and wrenching her saber from the other. Changing his hold, Aeon slid his arm under her upper arms, pinning her tightly to his chest, and then held the saber to her neck. He slowly made his way to the fountain, stepping backwards and into the water, backing up to where Raphael wouldn't be able to appear behind him, and as the soldiers parted to let his actions be known, Raphael's face began to twist with immeasurable levels of rage and abhorrence. Even Siegfried's face showed utmost fury at such a low act, but as Raphael was about to rush forward, Siegfried stopped him. "You move, and s'ey kill Amy. S'at is de simple truss," he warned, and at that, Raphael screamed his frustration for the entire city to hear.

A soft clap was heard as soon as Raphael's yelling ceased. Tira had managed to stand by then, and was just as shocked at what Aeon had done as the rest of them. Wailing in protest, she was about to leap at him when she was kicked to the ground again. "You will respect the Bishop when he is present," the soldier responsible told her, the point of his bardiche aimed for her heart.

His applause finished, Father Ambrosio appeared from around the corner, having seen much of the battle. Father Romero was at his side, a proud and dutiful expression on his face. Looking in Aeon's direction, Ambrosio gave him a curt nod. "Ah, Aeon, you have executed your task beautifully. One of them is in your grasp, the other is at a standstill. Very good." Turning in Raphael and Siegfried's direction, he inquired of them, "So, what do you plan to do? I see that one of you shares the very same sinful curse as the girl. You must be her father, I presume?"

"What iz it to you, you ass-licking dog?" Raphael snarled.

Although Romero was about to shoot an insult back, Ambrosio laughed and held up a hand as a sign to tell Romero to refrain. "My, aren't we sensitive today? But I can understand such a venomous tongue; were I in your position, I would be hard pressed to restrain such foul words myself. And you," he asked Siegfried, "why are you, of all people here? Your face is very recognizable, Azure Knight. Although, I do not believe the title belongs to you any longer, does it?"

It was then Siegfried's turn to be restrained, which Raphael had much difficulty in doing. "Never, _never again_, vill I be called Nightmare!" he bellowed, his cold eyes shining from their usual cold, nearly lifeless selves into blizzards of relentless fury. Raphael actually had to hold him back with both arms in a bear hug, planting both feet in the ground and rearing back as hard as he could while Siegfried fought like a wild animal.

Ignoring the vicious knight's obvious intentions to charge at him and throttle him with his innards, Ambrosio began to pace slowly, and brought forth the situation. "It seems we have a problem," he stated, "We have the tainted child, who, while being a valuable prize, _you_ are the one I want," pointing at Raphael, who began to look confused. Both Siegfried and Raphael stopped for a time, and Raphael asked, "What iz it z'at iz so important about _moi_?"

Explaining himself, Ambrosio continued, "Although the both of you are consumed by darkness, you, _demonio_, are the one responsible for much pain and suffering. Do you not think the Church had not heard of your actions, slaughtering people like cattle, or even worse, enslaving them to your will by biting them and draining their blood? We have many connections, _señor._

"So, to solve this dilemma, I have a proposition. You will surrender your body and soul to the Spanish Inquisition. You will suffer through your deserved and rightful punishment, so delivered by the will of God and the Catholic Church. In return, your daughter will go free, unharmed, unscathed, as will your two companions. They will be escorted out by my men, to ensure that nothing is to befall anyone."

"And ve are to believe you vill not turn on us because...?" Siegfried jabbed.

Pulling a solid gold crucifix from under his robe, Ambrosio kissed the head of Jesus Christ on it. "I make my vow as a servant of the Lord that I will not deviate from my terms, lest I forfeit my soul. Besides," he added, "it is not as though you have much of a choice is it?"

Gritting his teeth, Raphael cast his sword to the ground. "So be it! Do what you wish wit' me!" he cried, his arms spread wide, at which the soldiers immediately detained him.

Aeon was loath to do what he did, but he realized that he had to. Not only for his survival, but, if he was willing to take the chance, everyone's survival. Going any farther, he knew that someone was definitely going to die. Cesar was on the verge already, and either he, Raphael or Siegfried would have been killed in their duel, and Tira or Amy, most likely the both of them, would have been ovewhelmed by the amount of men that swarmed them. He had to have done something to stop it, and once he'd made it known that the child was a hostage, and that they were to negotiate, nobody was dying anymore. He'd done his job, even if it took a low blow to do it. As soon as Raphael was in custody, Aeon let Amy free of his grasp, looking at himself in disgust. It may have been for the better, but it was one of the last things he wished he'd ever have to do, now that he had anything to consider calling humanity.

Tira scrambled to her feet in Amy's wake, the two of them running into Siegfried's arms. He caught them gracefully, his sword still in hand, and an expression that showed he wished to commit brutal, very morbid acts upon that man that stood in front of him. However, he had two people that he needed to protect now, and another that needed rescuing as soon as possible. He did not have time to do those things just yet... and he soon began to tell himself that those were things that Nightmare would do, not him. He was a knight of goodness, of remorse, of redemption. Nightmare was the dark knight of horror, massacre and melancholy. Those thoughts should not have entered his mind at all.

Before leaving, Amy picked up Raphael's rapier- Flambert- and put it where Albion used to be. It was a little big for the sheath, so it stuck out a tad, but the blade was stiff enough for it to suffice. They were, as said, escorted by a small troupe of soldiers to the city gates, where they were ushered off. As they left, Tira asked quietly, "What are we going to do now?"

A determined look on his face, Siegfried answered, "I am going to get us some 'elp. Tonight, ve vill make our vay to England."

LlLlLlLlLlLl

Meanwhile, back at the square, Aeon watched as they shackled Raphael, and began to beat him and laugh at him as though they were abusing some sort of worn beast. He had recovered Cesar and brought him to Ambrosio and Romero's carriage; Romero was supposedly helping him, although with what, Aeon didn't know. He suspected it to be Soul Edge, and he didn't like the idea one bit.

Another blow to the stomach with the butt of a musket, and Raphael wheezed, tears welling up in pain. Aeon flinched at the sight. Fiend or not, this had to stop. Just like himself, he was to be punished when he reached their destination, not on the way there. Just as another one, laughing merrily as he was about to pummel Raphael with the ball on the handle of his pistol, Aeon stepped forward and grabbed his hand. Gripping it tightly, he made a feral growl and dug his talons into the man's wrist, drawing blood. The soldier cried out and dropped the gun, while the small circle around Raphael parted enough for Aeon to get through. Stepping in front of the vampire, Aeon drew his axe and swung his hand to the side, then pounded his chest, ending the charade with his arms spread out like a human shield. In essence, he'd told them, '_If you want to hurt him, you've got to get through me._'

One of them had apparently understood, and took him seriously. This one also having a pistol, he drew it and aimed it at Aeon, but it wasn't fast enough. In a flash, before he realized it, his knuckles and fingers were gone, and the pistol dropped to the ground. The rest of the men backed away, unwilling to lose appendages, while the other man screamed. Ambrosio rushed forward to see what happened. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded harshly, his stone cold eyes meeting Aeon's acid green orbs.

Aeon pointed at the others, and then hit the handle of his axe into his open palm, and then motioned at Raphael. Contemplating what Aeon implied, Ambrosio sternly told him, "You do realize I cannot let this go unpunished. But first, we must bandage the soldier. And come, we cannot let the _demonio _be beaten to death before we get to Spain."

LlLlLlLlLlLl

(A/N): Okay, so I lied. No extra characters this chapter, it was way too long. I hope to get them in the next one, though.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: This one's gonna be a little bit of everyone. It's probably going to be a mite long, mostly just getting some of everyone, although I may write an awfully long bit on Siegfried's part, I think. It's 'cause they're picking up another ally, so I'll elaborate more.

Also, by the way, there is going to be some very obscene language during the latter part of this chapter, so watch out. Not for the faint of heart, and it's one of the reasons I'd originally put it in the M section.

AaAaAaAaAaAa

Both Eris and Amarantos had been strangely understanding to the plight of their children. The involvement with the demon sword, how it managed to hold Sophitia in its service against her will by threatening her child, and the interference of the Spanish Inquisition. What they didn't understand, however, was why the Catholic Church would think it had any sort of authority in Greece. Of course, the Inquisition could have entered under the pretense that a dangerous religious artifact was located there, but it seemed unlikely that the local authorities would have allowed such an infamous organization inside its boundaries. The fact that their grandchildren were free of Soul Edge's curse was reassuring that things could still turn out for the better, but it would require much effort from everyone.

That evening, Sophitia had been seen standing atop the hill on Amarantos' land, basking in the dusky twilight. A rock pigeon cradled in her hands, she gave the iridescent bird a kiss atop its head, whispering, "It is for Taki; make sure she gets it, alright?" before releasing it to the skies. A small note was tied to its leg, barely visible as it soared to the horizon.

Cassandra had watched the entire scene, from too far a distance for her sister's words to be audible. Her curiosity had been piqued at who exactly Sophitia could be writing to, and she could think of hardly anyone that would come to help them. There was that German man, the knight with a huge sword, and he was probably near enough to send something by pigeon; although, why she would desire any help from such an unstable character was beyond Cassandra's understanding. Maybe she wanted to lay down a burden of regret she may have had after receiving his help and breaking the curse of Soul Edge flowing through her veins. But to actually come by personally to help? No way. So, who else did Sophitia know...?

Perhaps Raphael? Cassandra had met him a time or two, and he wasn't _too _bad. Sure, he was a creature of the night, but the young Greek had managed to warm up to him enough, and at least they weren't particularly hostile towards one another. What kind of help would he be, though? Hell, she was certain that the Inquisition would end up turning their attentions to him, and he'd end up as more of a liability than an asset.

There _was_ the slight chance that Sophitia also knew the location of the kunoichi she'd talked about. But the utter unlikelihood of Sophitia actually trying to send a letter so far made it a ridiculous prospect, and so Cassandra pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she approached her elder sister. "What's on your mind, Sister?" she asked suddenly, making Sophitia jump in surprise. "Something has to be getting at your nerves if you're sending out letters and trying to keep them to yourself."

Sophitia looked to the horizon again for a moment before answering, "I am requesting help from an old friend. I am sure that they will be able to help us with our situation and aid us in reclaiming what the Inquisition took away."

Cassandra nodded, still unable to develop a probable theory about just who this friend could be. "So, what do you plan to do once our help arrives? Wage a war against them?" she asked, devoid of seriousness.

Sophitia let a sigh. "I plan to infiltrate their forces and humiliate them. They stole any sort of pride we had, leaving us to fend for ourselves after we made our escape. We will beat them and their cruelties away, and leave their leaders humbled by a few who don't even follow their beliefs. The mockery of their power will demonstrate their unreliability, and prevent them from further hurting others."

Sitting down next to her and cocking her head slightly, Cassandra asked, "Who's this friend we should be expecting, anyway?" to which Sophitia replied, "Don't worry; you'll know her when she's here."

Cassandra's head and back snapped straight. "Who the Hell is this 'she' you're talking about?"

Sophitia had a soft, almost unnoticeable smile. "You'll find out later."

LlLlLlLlLlLl

The Inquisition and what remained of its troops had already begun to make their way to Spain, and were about three days into their trip. Yesterday they had crossed the Burgundy River, and made great progress by sticking to the flat lowlands rather than trudging through the hills. The day before, Aeon had received his punishment for assaulting the soldiers: a lashing with a steel-tipped cat-o'-nine-tails that sliced into his flesh. He had healed overnight, so there were no scars, but the pain had been horrendously agonizing. He would never wish it on anyone, and give them the mercy of killing them quickly instead.

Thoughts of Cesar would run afresh each morning, for he still had not left the carriage of Ambrosio and Romero. He just knew that either they were corrupting him with Soul Edge, integrating the sword's remains' energy inside him and warping him into some foul beast. Aeon wished with all his heart and soul that he could break in and stop them, but he would be killed, and Cesar would either follow a similar fate or worse. The effort would be a complete waste of time and do nobody any good.

There was very little conversation of any kind of substantiality, mostly occurring between the cruelest soldiers thinking of ways to torture the 'satanic wretch' that they'd captured in Paris. The ideas were gruesome in their own right, but it was when they actually acted on it that the pitiful vampire would be delivered shockingly disturbing amounts of pain and grief. Raphael had been placed in the same cage that Aeon had ridden in when he had first been captured by the Inquisition, shackled tightly to the bars with cuffs and chains that were made of steel, but coated with silver. During the day, one could see the cuffs of his bindings begin to lightly smoke, his weaknesses from the sun's poisonous rays being exponentially effective. Aeon would attempt to show sympathy for him every night, sharing his portion of the night's kill and feeding it to him through the cold-wrought iron bars of the carriage-cage the vampire was bound to. He saw a little of himself- or, to be more precise, his circumstances- in Raphael's situation, the only difference being that Aeon was released merely out of his usefulness. He assumed that Raphael would only attempt to escape and kill as many as he could if he were to be let free of the cage, and was also sure that he'd end up being thrown back into the cage himself, and probably starved the rest of the way, so releasing the poor man was not an option.

The orange and gold of twilight had begun to aid Raphael in enduring the pain, his flesh no longer burning in direct sunlight. He plead for night to come, and couldn't have wished it to be sooner than it was approaching; every passing minute seemed to be an hour, and the last of the glowing aura that emanated from the sunset moved at a pace that made Raphael wonder if it was being spiteful to him. He groaned helplessly as his torture continued.

Aeon, who had been walking nearby, looked in Raphael's direction at the sound. Expressing his mild concern Aeon stepped to the cage, keeping pace with the carriage, and did his best to muster a look of worry. All it seemed to do was irritate the man further, who stared at him with resentment. "If not for you, my _fille_ would be at 'ome, waiting for ze evil to be removed from her soul," he snapped.

Keeping his patience in check, Aeon cupped both of his hands and held them in the air like a set of brass scales, moving them up and down to clarify that he was referencing the concept of choice. Holding one hand high, he first pointed at Raphael and wrapped his hand around his wrist. He then held his other hand higher than the other, and held his free hand as though he had placed it on the head of a child. Aeon then did something very grim: he drew a finger across his throat. _I had to choose, either you would be shackled, or she would die_.

Raphael got the gist of what was 'said.' He retorted, "She would not 'ave been in such a situation, except zat you and zis bunch of mongrels 'ad to show up."

Aeon 'harrumphed' as best as a lizardman could, and then proceeded to sign out more 'words.' First, he gestured to all of the nearby soldiers, and then pointed at his own chest. Finally, Aeon clasped his hand over his wrist again. _I am a prisoner as well_.

A spiteful, crooked smile twisted its way to Raphael's mouth. "You are not'ing but anozzair slave to ze shit'ole zat is Spain." He spat at the floor of his cage before continuing, "Zey use you, you know. No matter how much you do for zem, you will still be killed. Executed. Murdered."

Looking at the ground, a solemn expression on his face, and sighed through his nostrils. The Frenchman was right, Aeon figured. His abilities were simply being utilized, while he would face a brutal death, most likely preceded by insurmountably painful torture. He did not lose that last glimmer of hope, that shining optimism, that he could still escape such a terrible fate. Perhaps striking back when they would least expect it? Yes, that seemed to be the best path, although it certainly wasn't very sound. But what else was there for him to do? Sit in the cage with Raphael and waste away for the rest of the trip? There was no way he would let himself sink so low, if only to prevent Raphael to gain any kind of satisfaction. Aeon then began to think of any sort of method that would give him a little room to work with, some sort of edge if he were to escape.

Raphael seemed to be a good candidate for the attempt, save for his current condition, wasting away as he starved to death, withering to dust in the sunlight. If he were to find something to restore the swordsman's strength, and perhaps arm him, he would be an excellent ally… were he not to attack Aeon instead. It would be risky, but it was a chance Aeon was willing to take. Reasoning with himself, he assured himself that Raphael would be able to see their mutual goals, and aid one another.

He turned back to face Raphael, what could be interpreted as an expression of deep thought on his face. Raphael raised a brow. "What is it now?"

Aeon placed a curled finger and thumb to his lips before walking away, mingling and soon disappearing in the unorganized crowds of the Inquisition's troops. The vampiric man watched until Aeon was out of sight, and then made a short, quiet laugh to himself. Whatever that beast had on his mind, it was most likely suicidal, and it had to do with him. Wondering only for a moment what ideas had been running through the lizard-freak's head, Raphael made a wheezing cough before falling into a pitiful slumber, his body going limp as he closed his eyes and sank to his knees.

SsSsSsSsSsSs

Although in all reality the trek was short, it seemed to take an agonizing length of time before Siegfried, Amy and Tira reached the mansion. Siegfried had been completely silent, staring ahead as though on some sort of vigil, making sure that nothing would even consider approaching them. He constantly gripped Soul Calibur, the cool shard's energy seeping through his armor and keeping him at a regular temperature. The air about him was unsettling; it was like he was a dead man whose body continued to move in spite of the lack of a will to live.

Tira couldn't help but fidget nervously, seeming to be paranoid that something would leap from the shadows and kill her in some horrific fashion. Amy stood at her side, holding her friend's hand inseparably tight while attempting to soothe her with calming, reassuring words, but it was all for naught. Amy's voice would crack, quake and tremble with each and every pitiful syllable, for she herself feared that Siegfried would probably stretch his last nerve too far, and squash them like minute insects under the flat of his zweihander. Nobody, it seemed, could find comfort of any kind to allow them to travel without the overbearing depression and gloom.

Upon reaching the gates, Siegfried finally broke the seal of his pursed lips. "Ve are to take only vat is needed. Food, drink, a change of closs and vun horse each. Am I understood?" He turned to them, those chillingly blue eyes piercing them to the soul and forcing them to submit. As he took their nodding of confirmation, he turned back around and opened the iron gates, saying, "You only need to bring enough to last two, maybe s'ree days. Ve are going to meet a friend of mine, perhaps vun you vill recognize," treading down the path swiftly.

The manor was even quieter, emptier than his last visit. The servants tended to the various needs that were needed to upkeep the house. One of them, a maid with black hair and tired eyes looked at the group with worry. "Where iz Maître Raphael? 'E iz not wit' you, what 'as 'appened?"

Siegfried answered darkly, "He is a prisoner of se Spanish Inquisition, and ve are going to rescue him. Ve need supplies, enough to reach England."

The maid said with a panicked tone, "Surely you do not mean to bring Madame Amy wit' you? She cannot leave-"

"She vill come vit us. She is a more san capable fighter, and she vould be in no danger vhile in my care. Raphael himself vould be more san understanding," interrupted Siegfried.

The maid stiffened and walked away, knowing that Siegfried would have his way regardless of what she did.

The supplies were gathered quickly, taking no more than a half an hour to collect what they needed. Tira had to take the clothes of one of the maids, as nothing Amy had that could be worn in travel that would also fit her more womanly physique. Once they had everything, they went to the stables, and each mounted a horse. Siegfried was greeted with that same horse he'd ridden from Metz to the mansion. He snorted, and the horse mirrored him. "Damned horse. You never learn to stay avay, do you?"

The horse whinnied and shook his head. Siegfried sighed, and the very ends of his lips curled upward, unnoticeable to all but himself. "Very vell. But if you get hurt, it is your fault entirely, eh?" he warned, to which his ride nodded.

Flinging his leg over the saddle, Siegfried spurned the creature onward, followed by Tira and Amy.

After two days of travel from the outskirts of Paris to Calais, it seemed as though Siegfried had lightened his mood. He was not cheerful, oh Heavens no, but he was at least talkative, and did not act like an automaton. It was mostly to his horse, but he would occasionally check on the two girls that followed him. Soul Calibur had yet to utter a single word, though, and that fact worried Siegfried. He did not know whether or not she was angry with him, or simply too weak, and would be for a time before she could recover properly.

Either way, when the trio had reached the port town, they had a terrible time as they weaved in and out of the crowds, making their way to the docks. Siegfried would grumble, and once even swore violently in German at a man who'd tried to shove the knight and his horse out of his way. The man did not answer.

The next boat had a lengthy waiting line at the dock, thick with people and impatience. Amy and Tira waited restlessly, watching as Siegfried's expression slowly turned from neutral into a fearfully irritated snarl. It looked like his face was reddening to just as dark of a reddish pink as his scar, the man obviously bottling up what seemed to be limitless amounts of frustration at how slowly the line was progressing. The crowd did not help either, bumping and pushing and cursing at one another, one or twice even falling into his horse's path. He had resisted the urge to simply trot over the man and step on his face, but only by a hair's breadth.

It was three excruciating hours before they finally reached the loading bay, and Siegfried was fuming, barely able to restrain himself from roaring out to the world that he wished to smash his head into a wall. The man at the bay held out a hand and said, "_Douze francs chacun_," his voice very formal and apathetic.

Siegfried dug roughly through the pouches on his belt, withdrawing a total of thirty-six francs, twelve for each of them. They each slid off of their horses as soon as they were boarded, holding them by the reins and leading them about the deck. They remained near the boarding area, if only to not have to go through that ordeal again. Siegfried propped himself by his arms on the gunwale of the ship, and took a deep, relieving breath of the salty air. His anger faded with each exhalation, and soon he was calmed again, able to relax. The two girls merely sat by their horses, holding the reins while they rested on the wooden, splintering planks of the deck. Amy looked up at Siegfried and asked demurely, "Who is it zat we are visiting?" her head cocked a little to the side to express her curiosity.

Siegfried turned around and only looked down with his eyes as he answered, "A… very, very good friend of mine. Ve have known each osser for many years, and she is more dan villing to help us rescue your… _pére_, as you call him."

Amy's eyes lit up, hope glittering profusely in her shiny orbs. "You are cairtain?"

Siegfried made a small, yet warm smile, unable to remain so grim at the sight of the girl's face. "_Ja_, I am very certain."

The rest of the trip across the Channel was uneventful, Tira only making an occasional yawn at the slow passing of time. When they landed at the English port in Dover, Siegfried clapped to get them up and moving, taking hold of their horses as they led them down into the city. It wasn't until they were clear of the docks that they mounted the horses and slowly tread through the winding streets, surrounded by people. Looking back at Amy and Tira, he said to them, "Ve are going to stop and have a small meal before continuing. London is a short distance avay, no more san a half a day's ride. Come, I can find us somesing dat von't make you sick."

Siegfried led them through town, taking only a short while to reach a tavern that wasn't particularly run down. It was certainly dirty, but it was nothing that they hadn't seen before. They tied their horses to a post at the side of the building, and stepped inside, the eatery dusty and reeking of stale beer. Amy's face wrinkled up as the rancid smell hit her, sweaty and dirty men stinking to high Heaven. Tira wasn't faring well either, getting several suggestive looks from various customers. Even Amy was getting a few disturbing glances from the more vile looking individuals about the place. Siegfried, however, was getting the most stares. They looked at him with disdain, some of them with worry, and even a few of them looked on with fear. It was not the fact that he was a knight; other nobles, although of the lower class, were there as well, if only staying separate from the rest of the patrons.

It was that great, massive blade that hung over his back that drew the attention. If he wanted to, Siegfried could have demolished most of the building with that thing, save the stone walls, and even that was questionable. Siegfried found the three of them a small, out-of-the-way table, and had Tira and Amy sit at his sides while he was facing the rest of the tavern. He placed Requiem in the corner next to him, and waited for one of the bartenders to approach the table. While they waited, Amy leaned towards Siegfried and whispered softly, "I zink I am already becoming sick, and none of ze food zat is most likely just as sickening would be necessary."

Siegfried cocked his head just slightly in her direction and reassured her, "Do not vorry, just because de tavern is dirty does not mean anysing about se food. I vas here on my last visit, and it vas a satisfactory meal."

Amy sighed and sat back in a normal position, suddenly becoming interested in the many cracks on the worn table. She obviously did not believe Siegfried, but she would have to trust his judgment on this one, as he was the one who was paying.

Tira's eyes continually darted around at all of the drunken men that were looking back and forth between her and their fellows. She was more than capable of beating the Hell out a few of them at a time, but a small posse of them would probably overwhelm her, no matter how incompetent they were. Of course, there were Siegfried and Amy to protect her, especially with that fierce rapier that Amy's father wielded. But Tira would never just flat out rely on her comrades to protect her, for she wished to show just how independent she could be. The fact that the rest of her had been exorcised from her mind did nothing to help; at least she was never alone when they were around, and the only people she could talk to were more likely to scold her or complain rather than comfort her.

As for the meal, Tira had no qualms about it. She was used to eating rodents and stray animals, unseasoned, and most of them undercooked. Something with flavor that was made for her was a pleasant change, especially considering what her diet had consisted of before.

Finally, after a considerably lengthy wait, a short, greasy, balding man with horrendously misshapen teeth stepped to the table and asked, "Wot'll i' be today, sir?"

After stroking his chin for a moment, Siegfried replied, "A slice of corned beef vit' cabbage vill do, vun for each of us. I can smell it in here, and I like it very much."

"Anyfing t'drink?"

"I vill have a pint of pale ale, and se ladies should have some vine, nossing too strong, hm?"

"Awright, you'll 'ave i' in just a tick."

The man walked off, and once he was out of earshot, Siegfried leaned forward and told Tira and Amy quietly, "Amy, do not speak vhile ve are here, and it vould be vise for you to remain silent yourself, Tira. Se English are even less fond of se French visiting dem even more san you are of dem. Sey are already suspicious because of me being German, and ve need no more trouble vit' anybody. Understood?" They both nodded curtly.

Only a few minutes later the man returned with a large platter, three nice slabs of pink beef over a pile of cabbage, decorated with mustard seed and drenched in broth. Each of them were handed two knives and a plate, along with their drinks. Siegfried was presented with a pint in a brass mug, while the other two were given their dilute wine in tin goblets. They used their knives to hold the meat and lay it on their plates and scoop up bunches of the shredded, boiled cabbage. While Amy was the only polite one, Siegfried would take large mouthfuls of meat and cabbage, while Tira slurped and ravenously stuffed food into her maw. Amy was even more disgusted, and after only a few bites, she pushed away her plate, deciding instead to sip her wine. She nearly choked on the stuff, unprepared for the sour, bitter taste that came with it. This, however, was at least bearable. Raphael had kept a plentiful storage of alcoholic drinks in the wine basement that were far too strong for her to even so much as smell them. On that plane of thought, Amy steeled herself for it and sucked the drink down with gusto, wishing to simply get it out of the way while cleansing herself of the thought that she would end up drinking that acrid fluid that burned like liquid fire. She cringed and made a small cough as she set the goblet down, but was thankful that Siegfried hadn't ordered hard liquor instead of such light fare. She certainly didn't want to know what kind of filth would be put into such a drink.

Siegfried took a large gulp of the ale. It tasted more like grog to him, although it wasn't as bad as what was served at some of the cheaper bars he'd been to. He took note of Amy's reaction to how foul the wine most likely was in comparison to what decadent beverages she must have sampled while under Raphael's care. He sat down the mug and said, "I know it does not taste very pleasant. It is vat ve can afford, so do not too picky."

Amy sighed, watching as the others downed their food just a tad quicker. By the time they both had finished, Siegfried had to take off his gauntlet to wipe his lips, and Tira's face ran with juices, using the front of her blouse to get herself clean. They left almost as fast as they'd came though, Siegfried leaving the few schillings needed on the table, and were soon on the road again, nobody talking very substantially. The only thing that seemed to hint that anything was being said was that Siegfried's horse would snort and shake his head unusually frequently, as though he were making conversation with his own thoughts.

Half of the day had been gone by the time that they left, and it was another half by the time they reached the gates of London. The night had begun to fall, and the city's lights sparkled in the twilight, a light gold being cast over the buildings by both the setting sun and flickering flames that were being lit. Siegfried looked on with a determined face, while Tira and Amy watched as they drew nearer to the city, both enthralled and fearful of who or what strange things resided in such a place. Although they had both visited large cities before, Amy having lived in one for most of her life, the only one of the three that had reasonable amounts of experience with London was Siegfried, Tira only having been there once, and Amy never even so much as seeing it, let alone being in it. They knew it was going to be much different this time around, and so they braced themselves while they still had the chance to.

IiIiIiIiIiIi

Work, work, work.

Have just enough of a break to make sure that no one starved to death or got dehydrated, and then back to work.

Again, more work.

Hours had passed, Ivy having begun her research and experimentations early in the morning and almost ceaselessly continuing from there. Scurrying about her basement, the alchemist fettered over every single aspect of her project, mixing various concoctions and infusions in glass beakers, crystal vials, and boiling them in a bowl of iron. On the floor was a pentagram of silver dust, and in the middle, lying in a peaceful coil, was a large adder, still alive and flicking its tongue to taste the air.

Stress rolled from Ivy's face almost as profusely as did her sweat. The coat and shirt she wore, simple and expendable, had started to moisten around her neck and underarms, not to mention the backside of the tight skirt also getting slightly damp from her exertions. Finally, after laboring the entire day over the experiment, the weight of it seeming to be more like a week's worth of work, Ivy drew forth the final product of her mixing, blending and simmering of chemicals. To most, it was an unidentifiable vial of a lavender chemical that was deathly toxic for all they knew, but Miss Valentine knew better. What she had made was a sort of drug for enhancement of the soul, to fill it with excessive amounts of energy that, if used properly, would also keep itself reserved enough to not make its recipient burst into flame or disintegrate in a flash of light.

Holding the vial just above the head of the adder, Ivy let it dribble over the snake's coils, running over and adhering to every scale it contacted. At first, the snake began to writhe and hiss, agony burning through it from its head to the very tip of its tail. Then, after what was most likely fifteen seconds of living Hell for the poor creature, it fell to the floor, appearing to be very much dead. Its back had begun to smolder from contact with the chemical, searing a line that trailed across its flesh. Disappointed greatly with the results of her experiment, Ivy swore aloud a stream of words that would make the weaker-hearted drop into a dead faint, and then went to her desk, littered with parchment and paper. A quill, dabbled with ink, was drawn towards a clean sheet of paper, on which she scribbled: '_The potion was unsuccessful. Perhaps I need a larger, more durable test subject, maybe a wolf, or even a human. I would not wish to expend either and kill them as well. If only there were some other way to test its effects without setting the subject's insides on fire…_' and then set the quill down. She sighed and furrowed her brow in frustration. What her next victim- ahem, _tester of hypotheses_, would likely to be going through was not an idea Ivy was particularly fond of, but she knew that if she was to augment her own spirit's strength, she would have to see it work on something else before she was to down the stuff. After such a sweat-inducing endeavor, Ivy decided it was time for a bath and a change of clothes, and so she left her basement and made way to her bedroom.

The outfit she'd chosen was a tight, lilac undershirt, along with a red wine, velveteen jacket and matching breeches that also hugged the skin, a lacy scarf to hang just above her breasts, and tall boots of the same color as the shirt. Gathering the said outfit and a rag and towel, she then made her way to the bathroom. Making use of a modified beer tap that was suitable for water and connected to a large tank, she let it run for quite some time to fill with warm water, as she'd built the wooden tank near her chimney to help make it more time efficient than filling several buckets with hot water, going back and forth from the bathroom to the kitchen. She knew that the tank would have to be refilled often, considering it was only the size of a keg of ale, but it would suffice for about two or three baths before she had to go to utilize the well.

Once the tub was filled to the necessary depth, Ivy sprinkled in a crushed sort of rock salt that smelled of tea roses, stripped herself of the foul clothes, grabbed her rag and stepped inside the bath. It was at first a bit of a shock to her spine, as the water was much warmer than her body at the moment, but after lathering the rag with scented Castile soap, she was adjusted to it, running the rag up and down her arms after dipping her entire body into the tub for a moment. She started with her arms, fiercely scrubbing herself down from her underarms to her hands, and then went across her chest and then over and underneath her ample breasts. Her stomach, back and backside, then her legs; Ivy had left no part of herself untouched, using the soap in her hair before rinsing it all away. She stepped from the bath, pulled the plug to drain it into a pipeline that connected to the local sewer and dried herself off, being especially thorough on her hair, which she combed strait and free of tangles. After donning her chosen set of clothes, Ivy threw her clothes in a nearby hamper to be washed later, and then followed the hallways to her pantry thinking of what to eat. Rolled oats and coarsely ground wheat seemed appetizing at the moment, and so she dumped a portion of it into a small bowl, warming a sufficient amount of cream before pouring it in, mixing in only a minimal amount of spices. As wealthy as she was, Ivy was in no shape to fetter her funds away on those rare spices that were shipped to Europe, this time delving into a jar of cinnamon that had been shipped to England and France. It had cost her a fortune, considering how little she'd gotten for the price. Although she also had sticks of it, she decided it more appropriate to use the finely ground dust of the spice.

Once the oats and wheat had swelled with the cream, Ivy took her bowl of porridge and a spoon, walking to her lounge and sitting down to enjoy her meal. She had just finished it when the peace of her home was disturbed by her door knocker's thundering signal that someone was at her door. Standing up and licking her teeth clean before answering the door, Ivy wondered at just who it could be, considering she was a bit of a recluse that rarely left her estate, only doing so when necessary. The only friends she had were from hundreds of miles away and therefore anticipated some sort of wandering merchant to bug her with what was most likely useless junk.

What she had not expected was to see a knight dressed in steel and a cloak, accompanied by two young ladies. She recognized the girls, one of them was an assassin she'd defeated in her journeys, and the other… Raphael's foster daughter. Whatever could she be doing with Siegfried, who, as far as she knew, was utterly hated by the Frenchman? Siegfried greeted Ivy with a nod and a sigh of relief that she was home, and she in turn returned the greeting with, "Hmph. I take it you've run into something drastically important if you're coming back here to pay me a visit?" planting a hand on her hip.

"_Ja_. Se problem has to do vit de Spanish Inqvisition. Sey vent after Raphael and abducted him."

"And I suppose you, German dog, expect me to help you get the homosexual bastard back home?"

Amy frowned at Ivy deeply. Siegfried simply laughed it off, replying, "Ah, sat vould be de only reason I vould employ a conniving bitch like you," smiling mischievously.

"Dirty mongrel." She leaned closer just a couple of inches.

"Mad vitch." Siegfried too leaned in.

"Bastard knight."

"Whore."

"Murderer."

"Cunt!" Siegfried barked.

"Dog fucker!"

"Shit-eating loon!"

"Ass-licking vagrant!"

By then, the two were face to face, their noses almost touching, only off by a few centimeters. Ivy whipped out her hand and grasped Siegfried by the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of his soft, golden locks, while Siegfried gripped Ivy by the jaw, and they planted their lips together, tongues snaking about furiously in one another's mouths. Tira looked on with a raised brow, and Amy gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth.

They parted, and Ivy smiled. "C'mon in. I'll get you all some tea."

As Ivy again hustled towards her pantry, Siegfried led the others into her lounge, each of them taking a seat; Siegfried undid his armor before he sat, undoing the leather straps on his plackart and the segments below first before working on the spaulders, gauntlets and greaves. While the three guests began to relax, Amy looked at Siegfried curiously. Her voice laced with uncertainty, she asked, "Why… why did you do… _zat_? I 'ave nevair seen a kiss like what you and ze woman just did. You would not 'appen to be… erm, to be lovairs?

Siegfried pondered for a moment before answering, "In a vay, yes. Ve have known eachosser for some time now. Ve met four years ago, and have kept in touch vunce in avhile. Se relationship de two of us developed has grown to a sort of fondness, aldough I do not believe ve are to marry anytime soon."

"Ah," Amy replied, having no idea of what to say. The subject in general was confusing to her, and she didn'twant to think about it any longer.

Blessing came to her disturbing tension in Ivy bringing out a teapot and four teacups with an egg-shaped brewing container, and she poured their cups full of boiling water before sitting next to Siegfried on the couch that was more a cushioned bench than anything else. The other two girls were in their own separate chairs, sipping down the piping hot tea very carefully. Breaking the silence, Ivy inquired Siegfried, "So. Wot's happened that brings you to my humble abode?"

Getting directly to the point, Siegfried said, "Raphael had summoned me by a message bird, and so I followed to his new house just outside of Paris. I vas to help purify him and Amy, but ve vere interrupted by a certain friend of Amy's."

Tira coughed lightly.

Siegfried continued, "From sere ve attempted to catch Amy and Tira in Paris, who had run avay, and se Spaniards had arrived also. Sere vas a quick fight, many of de Spanish being slain, and Raphael and I took on a lizardman who held Amy hostage until se fighting stopped and Raphael vas captured. By se looks of dings, it seemed it vas desperate to end se scuffle, and did so vit an eqvally desperate messod. It vas cruel, but it vas probably all sat it could dink of at de moment."

Ivy took a sip of her tea. "So, Siegfried," she said rather casually, "What's it you planned on using anyway?"

Siegfried reached into his pouch and drew forth the spear of crystal that was Soul Calibur. Ivy's jaw dropped, and she said, the awe and disbelief clear in her voice, "Is that… what I think it is?" to which Siegfried nodded.

"Yes."

"What." Her flat voice expressed how confounding the find was.

Shifting in her seat uncomfortably, she asked, "You don't plan on using that anytime soon, do you?"

Siegfried shook his head. "_Nein_. She has been unresponsive as of late, and I don't sink she vill be anytime soon."

"Wait… did you just call it 'she'?"

Siegfried nodded. "Her voice is very feminine, very much se opposite of vat I heard from Soul Edge."

Ivy put a hand to her forehead, using her thumb to rub her temples. "I think… I think we're going to have to sleep on this one. We should rest up a bit before we start explaining how it got itself like that anyway. Come, I'll show you the guest rooms."

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A/N: Hope it wasn't too harsh with the language there. Definitely not safe for the little chiddlers. As always, please read and review.


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